Loveless
by Mirage Shinkiro
Summary: G1. When Optimus Prime fell in love with Prowl, he never imagined that they'd curse their chances from the beginning, that Prowl's past would stand in the way, or that his own past would rise to complicate his love. Can happiness be found?
1. Hidden Love

_Title: Loveless_  
_Author:_ Mirage Shinkiro

_Rating:_ **M  
**_**Warnings:**_ mech/mech, a.k.a. intimacy between androgynous and nonsexually reproducing but male-"pronoun'd" 'bots. Also, brief mentions of past sexual violence/wounds.

_Disclaimer:_ Transformers is the property of Hasbro, and although I wish I could make money off the TF franchise so I could be independently wealthy, I am not. Alas, I remain poor and am just borrowing the lovely robots.

_Summary:_ G1. When Optimus Prime fell in love with Prowl, he never imagined that he'd curse his chances from the beginning, that Prowl's past would stand in the way, or that his own past would rise to complicate his love. Will he destroy the one mech he can trust himself with? Will he destroy Prowl's trust in him?

_A/N, explanation:_ References "Megatron's Master Plan: Parts 1 and 2." Some inspiration for this story comes from Ante Luce. Also, I know there is a manga named _Loveless,_ which I know little about. I think it's a wonderful title, though, and the issue of love vs. loveless and the understanding thereof is at the core of my story.

_A/N, units of time:_ nanoklik=1 second; klik=1.2minutes; breem=8.3 minutes; joor=roughly an hour; orn=a day; decoarn=ten days; stellar cycle=one year, and vorn=83 years.

* * *

_Out, out, brief candle!  
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,  
And then is heard no more. It is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing."  
-Macbeth,_ Shakespeare

_**Chapter 1: Hidden Love**_

Optimus Prime had a Very Bad Problem.

He was in love with his second-in-command.

From the doorway of the command center, he discretely watched Prowl flit from terminal to terminal, a picture of efficiency and grace. The doorwings especially drew his attention with their flicks and flutters, saying so much more than the rest of Prowl's body language. A sharp flick, and Prowl was angry with the twins. A soft flutter, and he was amused by Bluestreak's exuberance or Jazz's antics. Right now, they were at what Prime had mentally dubbed 'parade rest,' which meant he was relaxed but focused. Once one added in the optic-catching contrast of the black and white paint and the elegant red chevron, Prowl was quite beautiful.

But that wasn't why Optimus was in love with him.

Prowl glanced up, as though sensing Prime's gaze, and immediately whisked to his side. "Good morning, sir." He held out a datapad. "Here is the report on Central City. Given that the Decepticons had enslaved the humans, it's surprising that the number of casualties isn't higher. The mayor requests our help in rebuilding or fixing some the factories and other buildings, but past that we can't assist much. It's mostly in the hands of the human medics."

Prime wondered briefly just what he'd do without Prowl's calm, quiet, competent help. Drown, probably. "Thank you." He accepted the datapad, glancing it over. "I suppose you already dispatched Hoist, Grapple, Huffer, and Hauler to assist them."

"Yes, sir." Prowl held out a second datapad. "Ratchet has submitted his report as well. He says all of us are fully functional again except Trailbreaker and Cosmos, both of whom overtaxed their systems saving us from our destruction."

No accusation there. No disappointment. "Thank you." Prime accepted the second datapad, holding Prowl's gaze as he did. Prowl could have had his judgment called into question for so easily acquiescing to the humans' demands. The people of Central City hadn't truly had the authority to command the Autobots to leave the planet, after all. Only Prime's sense of honor and duty had compelled him to obey the angry and terrified humans' wishes. But, no. Prowl had stood by him, as he always had, loyal and respectful.

But none of this was the reason Prime had begun falling in love.

"You're welcome, sir." Prowl stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Are you all right, sir?" A flash of concern brightened his optics temporarily.

That was why. That undercurrent of care — not hero-worship, not blind faith, not political posturing — _earnest_ care, reserved just for him, quietly at his side as he secretly grieved Elita One's death. Patient. Understanding. Never imposing. "Yes, Prowl. The situation had an element of horror we rarely face, and my energy levels are still low from my self-repair systems. But I'm fine."

Prowl watched him closely, then nodded. "Perhaps we should implement quad shifts until we're all recovered."

And there was another reason he was falling in love with Prowl: he could be honest with Prowl without worrying him, stressing him, or making him doubt him. "That's an excellent idea. Make it so."

"Yes, sir." Prowl paused, canting his head slightly. "Are you going to the party tonight, sir?"

Prime smiled behind his battle mask. Jazz and the twins had set up a party to celebrate the 'Cons' defeat and their own escape from being melted by the sun, or to put it more bluntly, they'd set up an outlet for everyone to vent their stress over being accused of evil and nearly killed. "I think we could all benefit from some relaxation. Including you."

"Indeed, sir." Prowl nodded, turned about-face and swept over to Teletraan I, no doubt immediately rearranging everyone's schedules.

Optimus watched the beautiful arc of those doorwings, so very proud, and imagined himself stroking those panels or pressing a kiss to those grey lips. When Elita had died, he had thought he'd never love again, and for the longest time, his recharge had been interrupted by nightmares of her vanishing from his sight, their calling out to each other as shots rained around them. He'd wondered if he could have done something more to save her. Even now her death was a quiet ache that never ceased in his spark. But supplanting it was a deep affection growing ever stronger toward his longtime friend and right-hand mech.

Rumors had suggested Prowl had been lovers with Sentinel Prime, and if so, he truly did understand Optimus' suffering. They shared the pain of the loss of a lover. But Prowl might also be, after all this time, ready for a new relationship, or so Optimus hoped. Would Prowl consider him a potential lover? Prime hadn't the slightest clue. He only knew his simple feelings of lust over countless lonely orns had become something far greater, and he was looking forward to spending time with Prowl at the party, talking outside of duty about something other than war.

oOoOo

Prowl rarely drank high-grade. It was too bitter, clouded his processor, and made him do _very stupid things,_ like, for example, trying to assist an over-energized Prime to his quarters.

"Sssorry, sir," Prowl mumbled as they careened into a corner. He paused, hoping his vocal processor would stop malfunctioning. How many high-grades had he drunk? Two, he thought. Why was the hallway swirling before his optics, then? "Uh, you're just a bit too heavy for me."

Optimus put his hand on the corner, pushing himself upright, and tightened his other arm around Prowl's shoulders. "Nah, that's fine I-I know how unwieldy I can be. Ratchet says so all the time when I get hurt and I really appreciate you taking me to my quarters before I embarrassed myself not that I'm not doing that already, hm?"

Prowl braced himself then started down the hallway toward his leader's quarters. Too many high-grades for Optimus always meant a free flow of brutally honest remarks or observations, which often came out in endless run-on sentences. This was one of the many reasons Prowl had extracted him from the party. Optimus would either humiliate himself or hurt someone else, and the troops really didn't need to see a drunken Prime. Prowl worried that it might lessen their respect for him as their leader. "No need to be embarrassed, sssir." He growled faintly, irritated by the malfunction of his vocal processor. His other drinks must have been spiked if he were having this much difficulty. "I'm in as bad a shape as I am. Um, I mean, you am. I mean, you are. Primus!" He really did hate high-grade.

A peal of drunken laughter drew his attention to his ward. "Oh, Prowl, you're so cute when you're flustered." Optimus leaned practically into his face.

Prowl nearly dropped Prime. "'Cute!'" In his state, the shock was almost too much to bear. He had been secretly captivated with Optimus for three million stellar cycles despite knowing Prime was already spoken for and swearing he'd never enter another relationship, anyway. Even with Elita One dead, he never expected Prime to notice him in any fashion, even to say he was good-looking. "I'm not cute!" His own internal monologue had been steadily vanishing all night, just as surely as Prime's had, and his sudden embarrassment didn't help. "D-don't say things like that." He managed to stumble up to Prime's door.

"You're cute." Prime reached out a shaking hand and tried three times before he got his access code punched in correctly.

At those repeated words, Prowl found the world looking slanted for more reasons than inebriation. When the doors opened, he stared into Prime's quarters for a moment, inappropriate thoughts entering his mind. What would it be like to share those quarters as a couple, to share that berth? "R-right. Let's go." He'd completely lost control of his processor, he decided. With a sigh, he tugged Prime into the room, only to jerk slightly when the door slid shut. Alone, in Prime's quarters.

"Desk chair," Prime said, and they stumbled over to their target, Prime laughing at their lack of coordination and Prowl chucking nervously over his unruly thoughts. Prime fell into the chair as soon as he was close enough.

Prowl sagged against the desk. "Maybe attending that party wasn't one of our better ideas," he managed to say. He sank his face into his hands, willing the room to stop tilting.

A gentle hand grasped his wrist and lowered his arm. "Maybe not but I like seeing you without your mask or professional façade." Blue optics met his gaze, and Optimus retracted his battle mask, showing the grin that had been hidden.

Prowl stared dumbly. He knew his processor was fuzzy, so he couldn't be sure, but was Prime watching him with _affection?_ His systems whined faintly in response to his shock. "_You_ have a mask, sir."

"Don't call me 'sir.'" Prime's grin grew wider, softer.

"Sorry, sir." _Oops,_ Prowl thought, then had to swallow a sudden, bizarre giggle fit.

"I'd like to think that around me," Optimus whispered, suddenly leaning into his face again, "you'd be comfortable just being you." For a moment, his grin was nearly goofy, and he snorted with laughter. "'Trust your Prime'!" His voice seemed to boom through the room.

It was ancient Autobot propaganda, and Prowl laughed, falling against Prime as he nearly slipped off the desk. "I already do," he admitted, not caring that he might regret his blunt honesty in the morning. He found he didn't care about much of anything, actually, save the mech leaning so close to him. Wild, wild hopes raced through his spark, and he couldn't garner enough control to stop them. "I trust you more than anyone else." He felt the grin tugging on his lips and didn't resist.

Optimus grew exceedingly still, staring at Prowl with an intense, unreadable expression, and reached up to grab his waist. "Do you?" His voice was a low rumble.

Prowl shivered, his doorwings perking with the arousal building in his systems. That low purr of a voice, those intense optics, the hands on his frame . . . "Yeeeah."

"Glad't hear it," he whispered, leaning forward and brushing his lips over Prowl's.

Prowl decided he was having a high grade-induced dream and was therefore probably, in reality, already offline on Prime's floor. Still, it felt _so slagging good_ he decided he didn't care about that, either. He wrapped his arms around Prime, clumsily smashing their lips together, and kissed him with three million stellar cycles' worth of pent up passion. Optimus moaned, adjusting the pressure of their lips, and immediately slipped his glossa into his mouth. Prowl met it with his own, parting his legs as Prime pressed close and hugging his knees to Prime's sides. Optimus moaned again, this time louder, and ran his hands up Prowl's back, massaging the door hinges.

Breaking their kiss with a gasp, Prowl arched into Prime's chest, pressing their bumpers together. "Ah! Primus . . ." He shuddered. Oh, definitely a dream – all his senses seemed blurred and foggy – but it felt so wonderful he just couldn't care. No, he wanted _more_. "Yes, touch them! I want to feel you touch them."

"_Prowl._" Prime's engine revved, hard, and he stood abruptly, clumsily dropping Prowl to his feet. "Do you know how long I've wanted you?" he whispered, turning him in his arms and bending him over the desk. "You with your graceful doorwings and quiet care?" Once Prowl was trapped between him and the desk, Prime caressed the length of the doorwings and bent down, running his glossa over the seam where the window met the upper edge of the door.

"Y-you have?" Prowl could barely comprehend the words, and he writhed under the touch, moaning with abandon as heat throbbed through his nodes and lines. It was one of his guilty little fantasies to have Prime trap him and ravish his doorwings. And that was just what Prime was doing: caressing the panels, tracing their edges, and fondling their undersides until Prowl trembled, his knees weak. He felt suddenly grateful for the desk holding him up.

"Don't you think we both deserve to relax and enjoy ourselves and to release stress and have pleasure?" As if to accentuate his words, Optimus leaned down and sucked on the tip of one doorwing, drawing a sharp intake of air from him.

"P-Prime . . ." He was doomed, Prowl decided. Beyond doomed. He had stopped interfacing thanks to wounds from a past relationship, but since he trusted Optimus, he found that his need was wildly out of control. Or maybe it was the high-grade . . .

One of Prime's warm hands stroked down Prowl's back again, then over his upturned aft and down one thigh. "Spread your legs for me," he whispered.

Prowl assumed he meant to connect to him from behind, but he couldn't understand why he needed to spread his legs for that. The interface array was in the upper abdomen of most 'bots. However, with his inhibitions gone, the thought of their being plugged into each other made him shiver with passion and drove all other considerations from his processor. So without further ado, he spread his thighs wide.

"Oh, Prowl, you really are beautiful," came the soft, low voice. A warm hand caressed up his inner thigh slowly. "I wish you could see yourself from my perspective: the arch of your doorwings, the shine of your armor, the curve of your frame bent over my desk . . ."

Barely able to focus on the words, Prowl squirmed under the touch, his processor just as fuzzy from the pleasure as the high-grade. But then Prime's fingers traced the panel seams of the critical energy port right between Prowl's legs. He was so stunned he yelped faintly. "P-Prime!" He felt his entire frame go rigid. Normally only medics accessed that port, and even then only in extreme situations, usually when a mech had lost all his limbs. Oh, some mechs used the port when interfacing, but when — "You want to jack into me?"

"Yes." Prime placed one hand on his lower back, stroking the plates there. "I'd love for us to share with each other that way."

_Share?_ "But it hurts," Prowl insisted, his fear blooming in his inebriated state. He started to push up from the desk. A small part of his memory banks reminded him it wasn't _supposed_ hurt, but even with his mind clouded, Prowl remembered all too well just how many sensors were there and the sharp sting and agony when it was done wrong. Or worse.

"Only if your lover is an insensitive aft and total fool." Optimus continued running his hand in comforting strokes over Prowl's back. "I'd never hurt you," he said, his voice tender and low. "Never."

Prowl paused, halfway between standing and bending over the desk. He glanced over his shoulder, instinctively looking down to see the source of the 'problem.' Sure enough, Prime had already retracted his panel cover and extended his interlink jack, which was a silver prong that glistened in the light. He frowned, caught up in his tumbling memories. "Yeah, my ex _was_ an aft," he said without thinking. Somehow, in his current state of mind, it didn't seem a big deal to admit that.

"Well, I want to pleasure you, not hurt you," Prime whispered, pressing a kiss to the middle of Prowl's right doorwing. "I'll go slowly and online the port first. Please, I want to do this for you."

"But—" Prowl paused, vaguely remembering someone telling him that having the port online first was the key. He transferred his gaze to Prime's face, and seeing his affectionate smile, he relaxed fractionally. Still, thanks to the past, he couldn't be comfortable with that kind of connection. "Please choose another way," Prowl whispered, wondering if his desires and needs would be listened to. In the past, they had never been. "I just . . . can't. Sorry."

Prime's gentle hands moved to his door hinges, caressing them and making them tingle. "That's okay," he said softly. "I just want to bring you pleasure. It doesn't matter how." He pressed another kiss to one of Prowl's door panels, then reached around his side to his upper abdomen, removing the interface array's cover instead. Setting the panel aside, he began tracing the port's bare metal rim with his fingertip, gently stroking it and bringing the array online. Prowl sighed as pleasure seeped through his circuits, and very slowly he let himself relax against the desk again. When the warm finger caressed the array's sensor nodes, Prowl moaned, amazed at how good it felt.

A soft moan sounded behind him. "Oh, Prowl . . ." The hand intermittently caressing his door hinges stroked lovingly over his aft once before transferring to one door panel. A quiet gasp escaped Prowl at the dual stimulation, and the air seemed to hum with the sound of his now fully online system. Then he felt Prime lean over him, felt the warm connecting cable wrap around his side.

"Ready?" Prime whispered.

Although he nodded, Prowl expected him to simply jam the cable in, and he felt glad he wasn't getting rammed into this time, as though aggression, roughness, and force were somehow inherently pleasurable. However, Optimus gently pushed the cable in, clicking it in place, and Prowl felt a flash of heat that made his body tingle.

Warnings popped up on Prowl's internal display, and he lowered his fire walls, allowing their systems to synch and the energy transfer process to begin. In his experience, all the energy would be simply thrown at him at once, but Optimus sent a single pulse, shooting heat through his entire body, then paused. The warm energy fanned through his systems, made his engine turn over, pulled a moan from his lips. Again, Optimus sent a single burst, then another, then another, the surge of pleasure sharper each time, and Prowl realized he was going to be driven wild.

Overcome, Prowl gripped the edge of the desk and moaned wantonly, the high-grade loosening his vocalizer and letting him yell out what he normally couldn't. "Yes, _yes_! Don't stop!" Optimus was just so _gentle_. The pulses of heat throbbed through his sensors and nodes, bringing them to their highest energy allowance without hurting him, then cascaded his entire frame with tingling. It was a tease, giving him almost enough pleasure to overload but stopping shy, making his ecstasy spike ever higher. No one had ever taken such care with him, and all he could do was press his hot cheek against the cool desk surface and moan with need.

"I think you should be 'faced gently and thoroughly," Prime whispered, dropping a kiss to the back of his neck, his rumbling voice almost a purr. "You need to be cherished." He pushed more energy over their connection, the heat washing through Prowl's circuits in a wave.

Prowl absolutely keened, overwhelmed by the sensation and unsure which affected him more: what Prime said or how he said it. "O-Optimus!" He was going to overload with or without the full, sustained energy flow at this rate.

"Dearest Prowl," Prime murmured, running one hand down his side lovingly. He pulled Prowl closer, pressing his front against Prowl's back, his heat of his body setting off the sensors in both of Prowl's doorwings.

Crying out, Prowl writhed beneath him as Optimus sent electrical pulses shooting throughout his entire frame. The pleasure seemed to pound through his lines, causing him to whimper.

"It's okay, love." Prime's voice was a sheer caress to his audios. "Let go."

Gasping, Prowl arched back into Prime, forcing all his own energy back over the connection. Their systems surged instantly, flooding Prowl with Prime's passion, need, and affection. The energy unleashed between them made sparks dance along their seams, and Prowl cried out as he overloaded, the circuits in his body absolutely _singing_ with the heat and pleasure. Behind him he heard a gasp and felt Prime stiffen with the excess energy of his own overload.

Prime carefully removed the cable, but Prowl found he felt too sated to move. Warning after warning scrolled along his inner display, alerting him as systems shut down from overheating. He felt dazed, satisfied, peaceful . . .

"Mm," he said, the only syllable he got out before he offlined.

oOoOo

Optimus awakened, but his optics didn't want to online right away. He felt warm, happy, and relaxed, although there was an odd weight against his chassis. He smelled another mech near: a sweet tinge of oil from joints and ozone from overheated circuits. He felt an arm around his waist, embracing him close, heard the low purr of a recharging engine. As his optics focused, he found himself in his quarters, his arms wrapped around a smaller mech.

"Prowl!" he gasped, shocked as his memory banks surged and gave him a memory dump. The files were low-quality, almost grainy at points, and missing a few astroseconds of footage here and there. Still, Optimus was presented with his and Prowl's inebriated but passionate love-making, and Prowl crying out, moaning, and writhing under him. Prime's engine hitched, his core temperature rising at such a beautiful, sexy sight, and he smiled at the gorgeous form curled in his arms. A wave of elation washed over him, and he rubbed Prowl's back, overjoyed with the thought of loving him openly . . .

Until he realized just exactly how Prowl was likely to react once sober.

Prowl's unrestrained passion and desire the night before had been pleasantly surprising, but then again, they'd been over-energized. Optimus frowned, imagining Prowl, who was always so in control, proper, and formal, waking up to 'the morning after.' As someone who prided himself on his professionalism and who always demonstrated perfectionism, Prowl would be unlikely to forgive himself and perhaps equally unwilling to forgive Prime. Optimus knew instinctively that he would cherish the memory of their love-making as long as he lived, even if Prowl never spoke to him outside of duty again. But Prowl . . . Prowl might count their night together as a gaffe.

Optimus suddenly felt terrified.

_Please,_ he thought, gazing at the handsome face, features relaxed in recharge and framed with that elegant, red chevron. He hugged him tighter. _Please don't hate yourself. Please don't hate me. I love you, and although 'facing you while we're both over-energized is not the way I wanted this to happen, I can't regret making love to you._ The fear inched through his lines like liquid nitrogen, freezing the air in his intakes. How was he going to handle this?

Prowl's optics slowly activated, points of blue light in the darkness. For a moment, he simply lay there, apparently struggling to clear his processor. Then his optics flared bright, and he suddenly bolted upright. "Primus!" He calmed instantly, his joints seeming to freeze as his body language shut down, and he stood, extracting himself from Prime's embrace.

This was not good. Optimus sat up, fighting to remain calm in the face of his own surging worry. "Prowl, it's okay."

Prowl stared at him, his face expressionless but his doorwings quivering from badly-hidden stress and tension. "I'm sorry, sir. I was over-energized, and I—"

"I was over-energized, too." Optimus sighed, forlorn. If Prowl went fully into Good Soldier mode, all would be lost. "And you don't have to call me 'sir.' We're off duty, and we're friends." He stood as well and reached out, taking Prowl's hands into his own. "And there is nothing to forgive. We were both over energized, and we both made a mistake last night. But it'll be all right. Nothing needs to become awkward. Your duties will not change or suffer." Prime scrambled to stay ahead of Prowl's processor and to keep him from freaking out. He knew he could build off of a calm Prowl, but he couldn't work off of a worried, closed-off Prowl. "And besides, had we not both been inebriated, we wouldn't have made that kind of mistake."

For a long moment, Prowl seemed more of a statue. He wouldn't meet his gaze and pulled his hands free. "And yet my behavior is still an imposition upon you." He bowed faintly. "I suppose we equally erred. I hope that you will not think less of me and that it will indeed not impede our ability to work together."

Prime reached out for him once again, fearing Prowl would clam up, avoid him when possible, and become distant. "Prowl . . . of course not. But please wait."

"I do not think that would be wise. We do not wish for any of the crew to spy me leaving your quarters." Prowl turned toward the door. "Excuse me, sir." He exited quickly.

Optimus stared after him. He had not wanted to issue a direct order, to bring military protocol into play, but he wondered if he should have in order to stop Prowl's flight of panic and to explain his feelings.

Then again, if Prowl didn't return those feelings, the situation would become even more awkward. Optimus let his shoulders slump in dejection, unsure how to proceed and fearing that he'd accidentally blown his chance to ever woo Prowl.

oOoOo

Prowl glared at his desktop, overcome with such horror that he couldn't move. Although it was another joor before first shift began, he felt compelled to be in the location he deemed safest: his office. Before him sat his work for the orn: the decaorn's energon usage report and duty roster, disciplinary measures for Sideswipe's latest prank, and notable comms traffic for the previous orn. Jerking to life, Prowl grabbed the mass of datapads, organizing them swiftly so he could begin his work, only to stop just as abruptly and stare at them as though they were toxic.

He had interfaced. With Prime.

A pained whine escaped his vocalizer. He didn't even know where to begin sorting his colliding thoughts and feelings. A sharp pain shot through his back, and he grimaced, forcing his doorwings to relax. A dull ache also throbbed in his processor, probably from overheating, which was a sure sign of a hangover.

_What if everything gets awkward?_ he thought, mortified. _Prime said it wouldn't, and it just can't! Things must run smoothly. I can't get in the way of that._ He picked up the first datapad, reading over Ironhide's report of Sideswipe's misbehavior. He stopped when he realized he wasn't actually seeing the glyphs. _I can't believe I allowed myself to become so inebriated. That I allowed myself such an indiscretion!_ A deep burn of humiliation scorched his lines and tank. _I wonder what Prime must think of my giving myself up so easily._ He shuddered. "At least he's not the type to laugh at me or talk about me behind my back," he whispered to himself, dropping his datapad and sinking his face into his hands.

What had he been thinking? Oh, right. He hadn't been. "Idiot," Prowl hissed. He knew better than to drink any high-grade. _I also know better than to get into a relationship with someone, much less 'face around._ Prowl lifted his head, staring in misery at the wall. After being pre-bonded to Sentinel Prime, he had sworn to never enter another relationship again and definitely had foresworn intimate contact. Spending the rest of his life alone and self-servicing was a small price to pay for emotional safety and freedom. But his body could still remember some of his past pain, which is why Optimus had scared him when he'd gone for his critical energy port instead of his interface port. Plugging into another mech could be dangerous enough, but —

Prowl halted mid-thought, struck dumb by the simplest of realizations: Optimus hadn't hurt him. He'd listened to his concerns, gotten his permission, been gentle, treated him affectionately, called him 'Dearest Prowl' . . .

A single pulse radiated through Prowl's spark, sweeping over his body in a surge of energy. 'Bots had often spoken of lovemaking, but in Prowl's experience, interfacing had been more like a chore, with roughness, impatience, and insensitivity thrown his way. His circuits tingled at the memory of Optimus' caresses and –

Prowl laughed aloud, almost hysterically. His best interface had been while _drunk?_ It seemed a sick irony. Prowl's processor skipped slightly on the concept, then abruptly spit out another piece of the memory:

_'Had we not both been inebriated, we wouldn't have made that kind of mistake.'_

Curling slightly in on himself, Prowl reached out and picked up Ironhide's report again. Mistake.

_Mistake._

"He thinks it was a mistake," Prowl told himself aloud, as though speaking the words made the concept more real. No matter how horrified Prowl was professionally, no matter how touched by the affection personally, it didn't ultimately matter. Prime had called it a mistake. A second pulse shook Prowl's spark, this time a cold, clenching one. Optimus was no doubt regretting it this morning as well, and Prowl didn't even want to guess what else he felt about it.

Prowl's office door chime buzzed, and he glanced at it in terror. Was it Optimus? Who else would come to see him so early? What would he say? What could he do? "Act like nothing happened," he ordered himself in a whisper, hitting the access button.

The door slid open, revealing a grinning Jazz. Prowl experienced a moment's relief followed by a wave of panic. If Jazz found out about happened, Prowl would never hear the end of it. Jazz seemed to have a personal mission to hook him up with someone, as though his own beautifully, sickeningly perfect relationship with Mirage meant everyone else had to be paired up and happy.

"Heya, Prowler!" Jazz bounced into the room, a bit of a swing in his hips. Given that he was also snapping his fingers, it likely meant he was listening to music on his internal systems. "Ya left the party early, and Ratchet thinks someone spiked the low-grade. Just wanted to make sure yer all right. I myself already hit Ratchet up for some hangover relief."

Prowl gazed up at him, careful to keep his face stoic. Sometimes he thought his mask was all that kept him sane. Still, he decided then and there that whoever had spiked the energon would wish they'd never been sparked. "Is that so?"

Jazz grew so still, he looked like he'd been hit with Starscream's null ray. "Prowler?" A concerned edge colored his tone, and he leaned forward, planting his hands on his desk. "Are ya okay?"

"I'm fine," Prowl lied, realizing his voice had been dark with his anger and sense of doom. Although Jazz himself wouldn't be so cruel has to spread the news if he found out Prowl and Prime had interfaced, Prowl still wanted to keep it a secret. He didn't want to consider the gossipy glee that would result if it somehow got out.

Jazz frowned, canting his head to the side and looking distinctly worried.

Prowl relented a bit, knowing Jazz was genuinely his best friend and cared for him. "I did end up inebriated, and my processor hurts."

"I'm sorry, man." Jazz's voice was quieter, softer. "Why don't ya hand off a few reports to me and go to medbay? Slag, Prowl, ya don't even need to be in yer office this early anyway. We're not on duty yet!" He paused and smirked. "Still, I know Sideswipe is up for some disciplinary measures. I promise to be creative with it, and ya don't need to sit around in pain."

Although he was notoriously bad at delegating, even when he had work he _could_ delegate, Prowl decided today was the orn to accept Jazz's offer. The thought of dealing with Sideswipe seemed overwhelming at the moment, and knowing Jazz, he would come up with an armor-squeakingly bad punishment detail. "Very well." He handed over the datapad and stood.

"Good," Jazz put a hand on his shoulder, patting it lightly as they left the office. "I wouldn't wanna have to call Prime to make ya take care of yourself."

Prowl shuddered, his horror resurging. No, he didn't want that. A surge of cold, needling pain rushed through Prowl's lines, Prime's words echoing over and over in his memory banks: _had we not both been inebriated, we wouldn't have made that kind of mistake._

_Mistake._

_

* * *

_

_Postscript: Thank you to my beta readers, pl2363 and Asher119!_

_I'm afraid Sentinel is going to be a bad guy here. I actually don't dislike him in G1/IDW – he just seems kinda clueless – but given he's a jerk in TFA, he seems like a good candidate._

_Edited version.  
_


	2. Walking Shadow

_A/N: I want to thank, so very much, all the wonderful reviews who gave me encouragement and feedback. You guys are awesome! So much appreciation to Shizuka Taiyou, Kaede Akira, Reality Obscured, Aya-chan, thedinoknowsall, SwedishDragon, Liz, Hellen, Asher119, WolvesFire77, marlypup14, Dragon Queen88, Dvana, pl2363, OrianPrime92, and BitterSweetDrug._

_This chapter references "The Desertion of the Dinobots, part 1."_

* * *

_**Chapter 2: Walking Shadow**_

Just prior to first shift, Optimus Prime walked onto the command deck, nodding greetings to his officers like he always did and noting their general disposition: Jazz, chipper as usual; Ratchet, hung-over and grumpier than usual; Wheeljack, distracted as usual; Red Alert, too hung-over to feel as paranoid as usual; and Ironhide, moving a bit slower than usual but otherwise unaffected. What was different about this morning was that Prowl did not immediately come to his side, gifting him with his calm presence first thing in the morning. In fact, Prowl was glowering at one of Teletraan's terminals, apparently not even registering Prime's arrival as he punched through some data. Knowing Prowl, Optimus guessed he'd already been working for a joor.

For an instant, Prime's spark seemed to flare, then gutter in his chest, sending shoots of pain through his chassis. He would have sacrificed the universe to be able to draw Prowl into his arms again, kiss him gently, and assure him that he loved him and all would be well.

"Damage report from our party?" Prime didn't bother to officially call them to order since they had quieted when he entered, likely as a result of their hangovers.

"Just one item, sir," Red Alert said. "The twins are in the brig, and Bluestreak's been confined to medbay."

Prime wasn't surprised, but he felt a flash of concern for his badly-traumatized gunner. "Is Bluestreak all right?"

Ratchet snorted. "Fine, once I fix what the twins did to his paint. Stupid fraggers got too happy with some contraption they rigged up after going into town with Spike."

"Paintball guns," Ironhide supplied helpfully, a smirk playing about his lips.

_Primus,_ Optimus thought, getting the picture rather quickly.

"That's not the funny part, sir." Jazz grinned. "Blue was so mad, or should I say so over-energized an' mad, that he shouldered Sides into the floor, stole his gun, an' got 'em back."

The resulting tableau played out in Prime's head, and had he not been in so much emotional pain, he would have laughed. "I see. Collateral damage?"

"The rec room walls, sir." Ironhide shook his head. "I already told 'em they'd have to clean it all up today."

Prime nodded. Just another line in the datafiles of three young mechs. "You're dismissed. Oh, and Ratchet? Some assistance is required."

"Don't I know it," Ratchet said, walking over and gesturing for Prime to kneel. "Bad hangover?"

"Worse than I usually have." He had to wonder if the low-grade had been spiked and decided to order Red Alert to investigate. Or perhaps he'd simply ask Jazz, who likely already knew the answer plus the culprit. If someone really had spiked the low-grade, it wouldn't go well for him. Or them. It was no minor offense.

Ratchet accessed a panel on the side of Optimus' helm, pulled a vial and injector from his subspace, and within a few moments, a cool sensation of relief washed through Prime's processor. "There you go."

"Walking around armed and ready, are we?" Prime asked, vaguely amused that he hadn't needed to go to medbay.

"You better believe it, sir." Ratchet glanced toward the doorway as Cliffjumper and Gears entered, both looking like they'd rather kill a barrel of 'Cons than report for duty. "Gonna need it, too."

Prime shook his head as he stood, glancing around the room to see where Prowl had gone. However, Prowl was missing. _Not good,_ he thought, nodding his thanks to Ratchet and heading into the hallway. As he made his way to Prowl's office, he realized his sense of dread had been building since he came on deck. He could feel the cables in his neck and joints coiling tighter with his stress. _I need you, Prowl,_ he thought, his fists clenching with his pain. _Please don't shut me out._

When he reached Prowl's office door, he hit the buzzer and waited impatiently to be let in. Prowl's "Enter" sounded utterly flat and depressed, and Prime whisked into the room as soon as the door opened. "Prowl—"

Prowl scrambled to his feet. "Sorry, sir! I—"

"We need to talk," Optimus interrupted gently, not wanting Prowl to revert to his Good Solider routine.

Prowl very much looked as though he might blast a hole in the wall and escape. The expression of horror only lasted a moment, though, then Prowl stared at his desktop, his stoic mask in place. "Sir?"

Optimus had an overwhelming urge to gather Prowl in his arms and hug him tightly. He wanted to rub his back, kiss his chevron, and tuck his head under his chin. But Prowl's stiff body posture, his doorwings high on his back, told him that was an impossibility. So where did he even begin? "Prowl, please. There's no reason for us to be awkward around each other."

"Of course not, sir." Prowl lifted his gaze to stare pointedly at the wall and clasped his hands behind his back, almost as though he were being dressed down.

Prime paused, taken aback by Prowl's distant, unemotional attitude. Prowl always held 'bots at arms' length, but today his coldness made him seem statuesque. Prime had considered hinting at or even boldly revealing his feelings, worried that Prowl felt somehow used – that Prime had simply taken his pleasure and was now finished with him. But as he gazed at his friend, he couldn't square the stiff, stoic SIC with the image of the Prowl gasping, moaning, and writhing beneath him, so beautiful in his pleasure. "I hope you don't think any less of me. I certainly think no less of you."

"Of course not, sir."

Optimus cringed behind his battle mask. A million words came to his mind: _I cherish the night we spent together, actually; I love you and wish for something more; Prowl, please let me in . . ._

None of those words reached his lips. He'd never counted himself as a coward, but at the thought of the one he loved rejecting him and pushing him away, he lost courage.

Except Prowl already was pushing him away.

_'I trust you more than anyone else.'_ Optimus flinched as his processor replayed the unguarded words Prowl had spoken the previous night. He'd seemed so sincere, but now he wouldn't even look at him. Prime sighed, the pain feeling as though it were pushing slowly through his lines like expanding air bubbles. Had he ruined that trust? Said or done something during the interfacing that had wounded or scared Prowl? He couldn't imagine it was the former – he was never cruel to his lovers and thought such actions came from pathetic 'bots with sad lives – but he could have let his true feelings slip. He couldn't remember everything he'd said now since the memory files were such low quality. Still, if Prowl didn't feel the same, he would be feeling very awkward this morning.

"If that's all, sir?" Prowl finally met his gaze, and Optimus detected a flash of pain there.

_Pain I caused?_ Prime wondered in horror. "Yes. Carry on." He turned and left, cursing himself as a coward and worried he'd hurt the mech he loved.

oOoOo

Jazz stared down the hallway to his left, where Optimus Prime had just disappeared. He stared to his right, where Prowl had vanished around a corner.

Jazz decided Something Was Up.

For three orns, Prowl had gone into super-SIC mode, doing nothing but work and talking to no one outside of duty-related concerns. Meanwhile, Optimus had grown increasingly quiet and tired-looking and had taken to staring at his SIC when Prowl wasn't looking. Then, just a few kliks earlier, Jazz had been walking with Prowl, joking about the humans' new fighter drone the Autobots were supposed to watch during its test flight, when Optimus had rounded the corner. Prowl had frozen in his tracks, trading stiff words with Prime about who would be accompanying him to watch the demonstration. Prowl had refused to meet Prime's gaze and had whisked away.

Jazz had figured out long since that the two were secretly falling in love with each other, despite their being too thick-helmed to see it. Now, obviously something had happened between them, probably while they were over-energized after the party. And that meant Jazz needed to help if he could.

A faint hum registered on Jazz's audios, matched by a pull on his spark, and he smiled as his bondmate materialized behind his right shoulder. "Heya, there, sweetspark."

Mirage smiled, stretching his lithe form to wrap his arms around his shoulders. "Our commanders are all tense and moody. Shall I hazard a guess why?" He nuzzled Jazz's neck, sending little shivers down his spinal column.

"I'm thinkin' ya better not. Don't wanna start wild rumors," Jazz murmured, turning in Mirage's arms and hugging his waist.

Mirage canted his head. "Perhaps not, but I insist they'd make an excellent couple." A smile graced his lips. "I suppose you have already hatched an insidious plot to meddle, though."

"Insidious? Meddle? Me?" Jazz leaned forward, playfully nipping at Mirage's nose.

Mirage drew away quickly, laughing. "First you'd best figure out how they got themselves all bent out of shape, and preferably before one or the other of them loses his temper at our feisty twins or some other innocent bystander."

Jazz cringed. "Yer not kiddin'." Black moods did not fit their good-natured Prime, and an angry Prowl was a _scary_ Prowl. "Do me a favor and stay invisible as much as ya can today. I'll need ya to rumor collect."

Mirage nodded, gave him a quick kiss, and then released him, disappearing. Jazz pursed his lips, then headed after Prime. He wanted his two best friends to be happy, and he'd do just about anything to see that happen.

oOoOo

Prowl stopped abruptly in the doorway of the command deck, staring at the mechs gathered there and noting Jazz talking with Optimus. Jazz was laughing over something, and Prime was chuckling softly. The sight shot a metal spike through Prowl's spark, and he briefly considered turning around and leaving. He'd barely been able to talk to Prime for three orns, and he wondered if they'd ever be able to relax around each other again, much less share a private, quiet chuckle over someone's wild antics or the like.

_He said it was a mistake,_ Prowl's processor immediately and unnecessarily reminded him. He felt a sharp pain as his doorwings jerked higher on his back with his stress. After Sentinel, it had taken him a long time to develop feelings for anyone new. Relationships seemed like nothing but vain attempts at an elusive and short-lived happiness. Around him, mechs traded partners frequently and with apparent ease, while ancient bonded pairs went vorns without seeing each other, seemingly without caring. In his own private world, the word "love" seemed like a dark farce, a mask put over petty jealousy and suffocating possessiveness. And suffocation was all he could remember . . . .

But his new Prime had become his friend, then slowly something more teased at the edges of Prowl's mind. By watching Optimus with Elita, Prowl began to feel attraction, a capacity he thought he'd lost. Optimus was never jealous of Elita's time, never ran off her friends, didn't keep her tethered to his side, and didn't dismiss her opinions on the job.

And with the safety of Elita's presence standing between him and Optimus, Prowl had wondered if other things he'd dismissed as romantic idealism were true: did he care about her pleasure in the berth? Did he value her opinions in their personal lives? He was obviously protective of her, but he never seemed to treat her as weak or inferior despite his own massive size and unparalleled strength.

But then Prime had reported her killed, and now . . .

Now, in the darkness of his quarters at night, Prowl couldn't stop the images of their lovemaking from returning to him: the sight of Prime's affectionate smile, the feel of his gentle hands caressing his doorwings, the smell of ozone as their bodies heated, and the sound of his voice saying 'You need to be cherished.'

_'You need to be cherished'. . . . _

That was a mistake?

Prowl felt himself flinch as the pain seared his tank anew. He lifted his chin and perked up his doorwings, entering the room. Yes, it was a mistake, he reminded himself sharply. An inebriated one. What Prime was or wasn't in a relationship was a moot point; it was not something Prowl was to have.

He approached Prime and Jazz and straightened his posture. "My apologies, sir, for the interruption."

They both turned to face him, Jazz's posture relaxed and Prime's tense. "Go ahead," Optimus said.

"Wheeljack reports that the Dinobots have returned from their training and show signs of significant improvement in all areas but one." Prowl proffered the datapad containing the report.

"All but one?" Prime sounded far more formal than usual, if tired, as he took the report.

"Their personalities," Prowl replied bluntly.

Jazz laughed. "Ah, man, I'm not sure there _is_ help for that."

Prowl was inclined to agree, but the quiet humor he normally felt during such exchanges was absent.

Prime nodded once. "I want you to gather a full report plus a demonstration while my team is attending the test flight. I want your assessment of just what level of improvement they've achieved. Also, get them back on the duty roster immediately. Unless you find a reason to suggest otherwise, it is time for them to be more fully integrated into the crew."

"Yes, sir." Recognizing the dismissal in Prime's tone, Prowl nodded and stiffly made his way back into the hallway. Instead of focusing on the Dinobots, however, he found himself immediately preoccupied with Optimus again. His processor seemed to be looping, replaying memories repeatedly:

_'You need to be cherished'. . . . _

Part of Prowl felt like it would crawl from under his armor from the sheer need to be treasured. His thoughts rammed into each other in his mind: the feel of Prime's hot energy flowing into him as Prime declared he should be cherished, only to be contrasted with the cold sting of pain at hearing the words _'that kind of mistake.'_

Speeding up his pace as though he could outrun the memories, Prowl swept down the hallway and into his office. "I knew better," Prowl muttered to himself as he rushed into his office and began rifling through his newest stack of datapads. He stopped on the unexpected one from Ratchet, skimming over the report of Beachcomber, Bumblebee, and Cliffjumper being admitted due to inexplicable joint malfunctions. The report only derailed his concentration for a moment, though.

_Given the disaster that my relationship with Sentinel was,_ he thought, angry at himself, _and the problems I've seen mechs land themselves in by 'facing around, I knew better than to let something like this happen._ What was worse, things had become awkward on duty, just as he'd feared. Prime had tried to approach him about the topic once more the previous orn, but Prowl hadn't been able to bring himself to listen. Black waves of anxiety or regret or tension or . . . _something_ . . . had been roiling off Prime, and that scared Prowl. There were many things Prowl could take stoically, but 'You should be cherished' followed by 'We made a mistake' followed by shame wasn't one of them. Prowl wasn't sure he'd survive whatever words came next.

And more than that, Prowl was trapped in his own memory banks and logic circuits to the point his processor ached with the heat and strain: Prime had said it was okay, but it wasn't. Other 'bots might be able to just 'face anyone who caught their fancy for the night and shake hands and be friends in the morning, but Prowl couldn't. If he were going to uplink with someone, whether by a cable or jack or even synching of energy fields, then he was sharing himself with them. That 'bot had shared something intimate with him, a specialness Prowl took seriously. To say that it was 'okay' and nothing had to change seemed almost like a betrayal from the mech he trusted most.

Pausing, Prowl frowned and tried to replay the memory, something seeming off to him. Surely, surely, Prime had not meant it that way. The Optimus he knew was honorable and had treated him with respect even while interfacing inebriated. He was also wise. Surely, surely he couldn't be fool enough to say nothing would change or trite enough to dismiss it with an 'it'll be okay' . . .

The office door buzzer snapped through the silence, making Prowl jump and distracting him from his replay. He shut down the line of thought and sat behind his desk, retrieving Ratchet's report. "Enter," he said, triggering the door release.

Jazz stepped into the office, glanced at Prowl and his datapad, and then snorted. "Forget it. Ya ain't foolin' me that easily." He walked over to the desk, and the door automatically shut behind him, leaving them in private. "Ya look like yer workin' but yer not. Somethin' is eatin' at ya, Prowler, and I'm not leavin' 'til I find out what."

"I do not require any assistance," Prowl said, immediately wanting to defend his – and Prime's – privacy. However, at the sight of his best friend, his pain welled to the point of making his tanks ache. The tension of his grief was pressing on his spark, and he felt like he'd drown if he didn't release some of it. He also knew he needed advice since he wasn't particularly skilled at interpersonal issues.

"The slag ya don't." Jazz flopped in the chair across from his desk. "Look, I know you: yer on duty, tryin' to do yer work, and ya don't want interruptions. Ya like yer privacy and don't want to burden others with yer problems." He leaned forward, folding his arms on the desktop. "I'm headin' out in a joor, though, and yer obviously in a hell of pain. So burden me."

For a moment, Prowl felt like his processor was at war with itself: he didn't need this to get out and wanted his privacy, but he also needed advice and, frankly, a shoulder to lean on. He pressed his fingers to his temples as his logic chips began to overheat and ache and sighed explosively, dismissing the conflict before it could freeze him up. "I'll be fine."

"_Prowler._" Jazz frowned. "I don't wanna push ya, but I'm really worried about ya. And Prime."

Prowl's gaze snapped to Jazz's face. "Prime?" Had Jazz actually deduced what had happened? How? Or had Prime mentioned something? Surely not! But Jazz and Prime were close friends, too . . .

Jazz shook his head. "Can't ya see it? Prime's in pain. He hasn't said anythin', but given the clues, I can guess: somethin' happened between you two after the party."

Leaning back in his chair, Prowl watched his friend warily. Jazz was really, really good at these things. In a sense, it was part of his job to be that attentive to details, but it was also part of his personality to care for and tend to others.

Jazz also might be able to help.

"We interfaced," Prowl blurted out, saying the words before his logic circuits could talk him back out of it.

To his credit, Jazz didn't so much as flinch. "I figured ya had. And you two were both inebriated, weren't ya?"

Although he felt an odd sort of relief at hearing Jazz had already figured it out, Prowl dropped his gaze to his lap. "Yes." The shame of it burned through his circuits.

"I can't say I'm surprised," Jazz said softly, getting up and walking around the desk. He spun Prowl's chair, turning it to face him, then knelt in front of him and took his hands. "It's gonna be all right, Prowler. Whatever has gone wrong, we'll find a solution, okay?"

For an odd moment, Prowl found coolant standing in his optics, but he dismissed the urge to cry. "I'm not sure I can believe that." No, that wasn't true. He _definitely_ couldn't believe it. Not when his indiscretion had destroyed his closeness to the only mech he'd allowed himself to have feelings for since Sentinel.

"Was it bad?" Jazz asked quietly.

Prowl started faintly with surprise over the unexpected question. "No, not at all." A few pieces of memory flickered through his processor: Prime stroking his back, kissing a door panel, and talking to him tenderly. "He . . . went slowly," he managed to admit. "Said I should be cherished." He jerked his face away from Jazz's worried gaze and stared at the wall. "But he regrets it." His voice shook slightly. "He woke up sober and said it was a mistake."

"Wha . . .?" Jazz tugged on his hands until he faced him again. "There ain't no way. I mean, he might think it was a mistake to interface with ya while over-energized, especially as a first time together, but there's no way he could regret being with ya."

Prowl snorted, pulling his hands from Jazz's grasp and pushing the chair back. He stood and stalked across his office, only to pause at his bookcase and lean against it, crossing his arms. "You seem awfully sure of that." He shook his head. "He assured me things would be fine, that my duties wouldn't change and nothing would be awkward. He said it was a _mistake_. How would you characterize that except as damage control the morning after?"

"I don't know." Jazz had stood as well and now walked across the room to grasp his upper arms gently. "But I do know one thing: he loves ya. Has for a while now."

Prowl stared at him. "You're lying." _'Dearest Prowl'_ his memory banks whispered to him in Prime's voice. But, no. That was impossible, right?

Shaking his head, Jazz squeezed his arms and gave him a small smile. "Not at all, man. Don't think anyone else has figured it out other than Ironhide, but it's slaggin' obvious. He stands too close to ya, is always watchin' ya, always seems just a little happier around ya, and always freaks out just a bit when yer injured."

"He does?" Prowl had noticed Prime stood closer to him, but the rest was news. He experienced a moment's confusion and fear, stunned to think Ironhide knew something he didn't about his own personal life and that he, a tactician dedicated to detail, had somehow missed something Jazz deemed so obvious. But his confusion slipped into awe that Prime might value him in such a way, and a flitter of hope pulsed in his spark. However, it died as suddenly as it came. "Well, obviously we destroyed that."

"I don't think so." Jazz reached up and trapped Prowl's helm between his hands, shaking it ever-so-slightly before releasing him. "He's in pain, which means he cares."

Prowl felt his logic circuits speeding up and let them have rein. "He could care because of professional reasons."

"No, I mean he cares 'bout _you._"

"We were friends first."

"Not 'were,' _are_. An' in his optics, more than friends. Or so he hopes."

"Which presupposes we didn't destroy what could have been." Prowl wasn't about to relent. He wanted to see if Jazz could disprove his argument, to see if Jazz could convince him there was any hope.

Jazz smirked, apparently having learned him well enough to know what he was doing. "I'm gonna win this one. Love doesn't give up so easily. If he really does love ya, it'll take more than this for him to stop lovin' ya."

Prowl didn't truly have an answer for that one, but he replied anyway. "Assuming what he feels is love, which is the whole question." And a loaded question at that. Love was a strange entity others spoke of and had but that was not directed at him. His creators had loved him in a hands-off kind of way, but the only love he'd drawn to himself had been an abusive mech whose possessiveness paraded as love and a kindly but elderly mech, roughly the age of Alpha Trion and older than his own creators, who had wanted to dote on him. The first had wounded him almost beyond reaching, and the second had been unable to really build a life with him, assuming Prowl had wanted such a thing to begin with. And he hadn't.

"And that's why yer gonna have to talk to him." Jazz held up a finger. "I'll try to get a readin' on him for ya so you can prepare a battle plan. But in the end, it's yer campaign. Yer gonna have to be the one to talk to him." He started toward the door.

Prowl felt a flash of fear. "Don't say anything to him!" He knew he wouldn't, but he felt the need to ask anyway. "Don't say anything to anyone, even Mirage."

Jazz stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "Of course not, man. Yer my best friend." He gave him a smile, then suddenly flinched and dropped his hand to his knee joint, massaging it. "Ow. That was weird." He threw Prowl an I-have-no-idea look, then limped out the door.

Suddenly reminded of Ratchet's report, Prowl glanced back at his desk. More random joint problems? He sighed, his thoughts jumbled. He wanted to sort out all the new information Jazz had given him, but he was on duty and needed to do his work. What was more, it looked like something was up, and he needed to figure out what while Prime and the others were watching the drone plane's test flight. Not to mention get a demonstration from the Dinobots.

Duty first. Prowl rubbed the bridge of his nose and walked over to flop down in his chair.

oOoOo

Optimus felt like every joint and junction in his entire frame had been dislocated. He swallowed a groan as he drove over a pothole, wishing for once the _Ark_ had crashed in a spot where a nicely-maintained human city would have sprung up. Instead, he was bouncing through a bizarre swath of barren landscape so brutally at odds with the rest of Oregon, his tires finding every single bump, hole, and ridge in the area. Behind him, he could hear Jazz and Ironhide cursing over the potholes as well, but despite the pain his troops were in, Prime couldn't get them back to base any quicker.

Something was deeply wrong.

It was bad enough that the humans' test plane had been destroyed by the 'Cons and a power plant had been attacked. However, what worried Prime the most was the malfunctions both sides had experienced during the fight: Jazz hadn't been able to activate his stereo, Ironhide to retract his hand, and Mirage to enact his electro-disrupter. Ravage had spontaneously transformed, and Starscream had crashed. Most surprisingly, Megatron had missed at point blank range. Both sides had limped away from the battlefield, and Prime hadn't the slightest clue what was happening to them.

And yet, somehow, when Optimus entered the _Ark_ and saw Prowl hovering over Teletraan, his face drawn and doorwings drooping, he had a selfish moment in which all he wanted was to take care of Prowl. Not that Prowl would let him.

"Wheeljack, Perceptor." Prime struggled for a moment, his body stiff and unwilling to transform, then forced the sequence forward. He slowly straightened, only to realize his trailer hadn't receded into his extended subspace. He glanced back at it, reaching through his spark to check on Roller and verify the status of his Combat Deck. When Roller trilled back a tired but cheerful "okay," Prime returned his attention to his scientists. "Join Skyfire in the lab and determine what is happening to us."

"We're on it, sir." Wheeljack's vocal indicators failed to flash as he spoke, but he didn't pause at the oddity.

Prime turned to Ratchet and Hoist, only to find them already attending to the injured team. He frowned to himself as he saw that Jazz, who had experienced trouble transforming at the power station, was stuck halfway through his sequence. "Primus," he muttered, and being unable to restrain himself any longer, joined Prowl at Teletraan's controls. "You seemed unsurprised when I radioed in our problem," he said as he walked up behind him.

Prowl jumped faintly, then cast a frown at one of his doorwings. "I — we — have been experiencing strange malfunctions since you left, sir."

"Are your doorwings hurt?" Optimus asked softly, a sharp pain lancing through his tank at the thought Prowl might be both in physical and emotional pain.

For a moment, Prowl gazed up at him with the widest optics, an inexplicable look of surprise or awe crossing his face. Then he glanced away abruptly. "They didn't register your approach, sir – no information about air movement, no alert from the proximity sensors. In fact, they don't seem to be registering much at all."

Optimus lifted one hand and rested it against Prowl's right doorwing, splaying his hand on the panel. It jerked then trembled faintly under the touch. "It's cold," he noted, disturbed by what that could mean, and noticing the quiver, he felt a surge of protectiveness and care rage through him. His need to pull Prowl into his arms flared so strongly he nearly gasped through his intakes. _If only you would let me care for you!_ he thought, stricken. _If only you loved me, too. But just please stop pushing me away._

Prowl stared over his shoulder at him. "Sir . . ."

Mentally chastising himself for his unprofessional behavior, Prime dropped his hand. "How many 'bots are affected?"

Prowl snapped his attention to Teletraan. "According to Teletraan 1's sensor sweep, all of us."

"At least the Decepticons are affected as well. I hate to consider what would happen if they weren't." Prime turned to face the room, noticing that even the twins were lethargic, heaped in the floor by a repair berth. He had to find out what was causing this and fix it.

He sighed, pressing his fingers to one temple as his processor began to overheat. He couldn't seem to protect his mechs; he'd utterly failed to take care of Prowl. And he had no idea how he was going to fix any of it.

_I need you, Prowl,_ he wanted to say. He glanced back at his SIC, who was frowning at Teletraan's detailed scan report. Despite all that he had to carry alone as the Prime, his burden was eased by the unflappable mech who always stood at his side. He needed and wanted Prowl's calm demeanor and quiet humor. Never hysterical, completely reliable, Prowl was an unmovable force, a strength to match his strength. Pragmatic when he was idealistic, attentive to detail while Prime focused on the big picture, Prowl was his complement. At first, he'd thought they simply made a good command team: one to inspire and protect the mechs, the other to attend to and guard the institution. Then he realized the balance went far deeper: one outgoing and charismatic, the other quiet and self-reliant. One to intuit a problem's underlying causes and emotions, the other to organize the details of the solution. One to strive for a greater future, the other to control the here-and-now. And both of them decisive, resolute, responsible, and dedicated. They covered each others' weaknesses, complemented each others' strengths, and held each other in check.

And somewhere along the way, that balance had bled from the professional to the personal as Prowl stood by him through his private griefs.

Prime reached out his hand, wanting to touch Prowl's face, doorwing, or even shoulder. A touch of care, of affection, of love. _I need you._ The words almost formed on his lips, only to fall away. It was neither the time nor the place. His duty to his fellow Autobots came first. He dropped his hand and tried to pull himself together.

Prowl glanced up, his expression neutral but his words confident. "Perceptor will determine the cause of this, I am sure. We will generate a solution, sir."

It was the closest to normal Prowl had been since that night, and Prime's spark flickered at the sight. He wasn't sure 'need' was a strong enough word for what he felt. "Yes, Prowl. I have faith in that." Or, rather, he had to have faith in it. For him and everyone else.

Primus, he was tired of being alone.


	3. Brief Candle

_A/N: __**Warning – brief description of past sexual violence. **_

_I am borrowing the detail about Sentinel and Prowl being posted to Kaon from IDW, but the G1 timeline still takes precedence, namely that Orion Pax became Optimus Prime 9 million years ago. This means Prowl has served as Optimus Prime's SIC for 5 million "active/conscious" years._

_

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_**Chapter 3: Brief Candle**_

Prime sat collapsed on the medbay's floor, his back against the wall. Sparkplug had given up trying to fix Wheeljack and Ratchet and was standing on the moveable 'human platform' Wheeljack had built so they could access Teletraan 1. He was vaguely listening to Sparkplug relay to his son Teletraan's directions to the Cybertronium pits, and he was worried to the point his tank burned for Spike's and Carly's safety. He was also cursing himself for his lack of foresight.

He glanced over the room, where his mechs were collapsed against the walls, on the berths, or on the floor. He ached at the sight that presented itself: Most of the minibots had already fallen into stasis lock, and Jazz had put himself into stasis on purpose rather than continue fighting the discomfort of being stuck midway through his transformation. Wheeljack was stubbornly refusing to lose consciousness, however, as was Prowl, who was slumped on his knees at one of Teletraan's terminals. He was still monitoring the base's defenses in case the 'Cons got their shipment of Cybertronium first. Granted, Sparkplug had been working on Wheeljack's plan to reroute the space bridge to the experimental terminal they had built outside the _Ark._ But Prowl had no definition for 'too careful.'

_You work yourself literally to the point of deactivation,_ Prime thought, struck with both anguish and respect. Prowl's work ethic was a blessing to him, but in a moment such as this, he really just wanted to hold him in his arms.

Cybertronium. Prime's engine rumbled faintly in his exhausted irritation. How had he managed to forget something so basic? They had surveyed their wrecked ship closely to assess its condition after four million stellar cycles, but they hadn't stopped to consider the cost to themselves because they were too distracted by their new alt modes. Granted, Cybertronium was an additive required in all energon on Cybertron, but it was so common as an additive no one had stopped to ponder its absence on Earth. It didn't change the energon's taste, after all, or alter how much energy one could draw from it. However, it was a basic building block of their health and affected their circuits' relays. In short, without it they couldn't properly control the conduction, absorption, or routing of their energy. Without it, they would fall into stasis lock and remain deactivated until their sparks ran out of power, having no way to intake new energy.

It would be a slow, if unconscious, death.

Optimus offered another prayer to Primus. Although they all had their spirituality etched into their very cores due to their hyperawareness of their sparks, Optimus, as the Matrix-bearer, was especially unselfconscious about his connection to Primus and had no trouble asking for divine help . . . which he seemed to need as much of for Prowl as he did for Cybertronium.

"Experimental space bridge online," Prowl said to Sparkplug, but his voice was little more than a whisper laced with static.

"Thank you, Prowl." Sparkplug glanced at him with concern. "You know, you really should rest. Chip should be here any minute now, and he can watch the defenses for you."

"When he arrives . . ." Prowl didn't finish his sentence, his vocalizer spitting more static, but the message was clear: he would not give up his post until there was someone to give it to.

Optimus watched Prowl struggle to remain upright, hurting at seeing him hurt. His doorwings were flat against his back, his shoulders slumped, his face drawn. For all the pride and gratitude he felt over Prowl's dedication, being reminded one more time just how much they all depended on him to do his job and do it well, Prime wanted to gather him into his embrace, kiss his chevron, and whisper words of love into his audios.

With all his remaining strength, Prime forced himself to move. He'd already collapsed onto his face twice, but he'd do it a dozen more times if it got him to Prowl's side. On his hands and knees, he crossed the floor, pulling on the strength of the Matrix to reach Prowl and ignoring Sparkplug's cries for him to stop. When he reached the terminal, he leaned against it with some effort and gazed into Prowl's worried face.

"You shouldn't have," Prowl whispered, his brow furrowed.

"No other place . . . I wish to be." Facing deactivation made him choose between courage and cowardice, and he hadn't become Prime by giving in to fear. He reached up, wanting to take Prowl's hand but only able to press his hand to his knee.

Prowl's optics brightened in shock. "But . . . 'mistake'?"

Optimus tried to shake his head, but nasty warnings of imminent shut down were scrolling across his HUD. _No, it wasn't that kind of mistake,_ he wanted to say. _It's not a mistake for me to love you. And I want to – _  
" . . . protect you . . ."

"Op . . . ti . . . mus?" Prowl sank down to sit on his heels, looking so wounded and yet so hopeful that Prime wanted to cry.

"Need . . ." _you._ Prime tried to force the words out, but the warning for imminent stasis lock flashed on his display: _Emergency shutdown in 5 . . ._

"Prowl . . ."

_4_

Prime squeezed Prowl's knee with the last of his energy.

_3_

"Sir?" Prowl reached out trembling fingers toward him.

_2_

His fingers paused halfway to Prime's face.

_1._

oOoOo

_Reboot sequence initiated._

_Main processor online._

Prime's first thought was that something was terribly wrong.

_Power-on self-test: execute._

_Initiating boot device sequence. _

There was something he desperately needed to do.

_Loading master boot record._

_Primary memory online._

Prowl. He wanted to tell Prowl just how much he loved him. And his mechs! They had been in danger of deactivation.

_Executing operating system kernel._

_Initial programs loaded._

_Activating essential secondary hardware._

Prime's optics and audios onlined, and he took a moment to register his surroundings. Medbay. He was on a berth in medbay, and Wheeljack was leaning over him.

"How do you feel, big guy?" Wheeljack asked softly, his vocal indicators flashing.

_Like every single mineral in my frame has been forcefully extracted and reinserted._ "Achy, but clear-headed." He glanced around him at the two dozen or so unconscious mechs littering the floor. Ratchet and Sparkplug were focusing their work on Hoist and Perceptor.

"We're onlining everyone who can help us administer the Cybertronium," Wheeljack explained. "We're having to do it with IVs, so it'll take awhile."

Prime noted that Ratchet and Sparkplug were indeed hooking feeds into Hoist's and Perceptor's main energy lines. IV cubes of green liquid hung by the berths. "That is . . .?"

"Cybertronium-heavy, medical-grade energon." Wheeljack straightened. "Give your systems a moment to verify their status, but after that you should be ready to go, sir. In fact, you should feel better than you have in a long time."

Prime nodded. "Spike and Carly are all right?"

"Yes, sir." The sheer brightness of Wheeljack's vocal indicators showed his hidden smile and joy. "They went above and beyond the call of duty, I've gotta say, and the Dinobots pulled through for us in the end, too."

Prime smiled behind his mask and slowly sat up. "Then it sounds like recognitions are in order." He visually scoured the room until he found Prowl, who was unconscious by Teletraan. "Please online Prowl next. I need my command staff on their feet."

Ratchet peered over at him. "Of course. But you take it easy, or I'll drag your aft right back in here . . . _sir._"

"I know: never rouse the wrath of your CMO," Prime said lightly, holding up both hands in mock surrender. He stood, making his way to Prowl's side and damning the consequences. He _had to_, absolutely had to, hold him, even if for a brief moment.

At his movement, Roller burst from his parked trailer, which had been moved to medbay's far corner, and whisked over to him, trilling bright hellos.

"Good to see you're okay," he told the little 'bot who was part of him. "Scout the base's perimeters, and watch for Ravage, Buzzsaw, or Laserbeak, especially."

An excited trill of acknowledgement answered him, and Roller zipped away.

Reassured, Prime knelt by Prowl and gathered him into his arms. He carefully tucked Prowl's helm under his chin and hugged him to his chest, one arm under his doorwings and the other under his knees. He stood slowly and moved Prowl to the berth he'd just vacated.

"Prowl and Wheeljack were the last two of you to offline," Sparkplug commented from his spot by Perceptor. "He helped Chip for as long as he could. I tell you, he's one determined 'bot."

"Stubborn, more like it," Ratchet grumbled.

Optimus secretly smiled at Prowl, forever awed by the one he loved. "Dedicated," he corrected. "Is Chip still watching our defense system?"

"Yep." Sparkplug gestured in the general direction of the Command Deck. "Carly's at the Sky Spy monitor, and Spike's at the main battery controls, just in case."

Prime nodded, feeling incredibly glad for the time they'd spent training their human friends, and swept from the room to check on the teenagers. "Alert me when Prowl's online," he called over his shoulder.

Hopefully they'd have a temporary respite as the 'Cons fixed themselves as well, and Prime would have time to make his appeal to Prowl.

oOoOo

_Loading master boot record._

_Primary memory online._

Prowl had the vague sense he always had when rebooting. His memory banks seemed to be tumbling with too much information, like they always did after stasis lock. Clips of the past flashed across his processor, violently assaulting him:

Sentinel, morose, his huge form lurking over Prowl. "If you leave me, too, I think I'll kill myself."

_If only I had recognized that for the manipulation it was._

Sentinel, glowering as he backed him against a wall. "You were flirting with him. Yes, you were! You don't even flirt with _me_, so why do you get so animated with pretty strangers? No, you weren't just being polite!"

_If only I had realized the danger that portended. It was a sickness. Weakness._

Sentinel, leaning into his face. "Why don't we interface anymore? Don't you love me?"

_Manipulation after manipulation. How did I fall into such a trap?_

Sentinel, holding up a pair of magna cuffs and leering at him. "Why don't we try something new? Maybe all we need is to spice it up a bit."

Prowl's memories coalesced there on that one, horrible event. Prowl hadn't been interested in bondage, but Sentinel had been desperate to try it for over a stellar cycle. He'd gone to great lengths to describe why it would be so wonderful, even dipped so low as to accuse Prowl of being boring for not trying it. He'd never let the topic drop.

Sentinel was loveless.

When Prowl had finally agreed, mostly because he was tired of being nagged, Sentinel had quickly gone on a power trip. It was all about Sentinel's pleasure, Sentinel's tyranny, Sentinel's trying to make his oppression of Prowl very much a physical reality. Prowl hated it, never wanted any sort of affection disguised as such malice. He wondered if it was too much to ask for a nurturing, loving partner who actually cared about his pleasure. But no. Instead of caring or stopping as Prowl asked, Sentinel had slapped him, spit on him, called him a slut, and pinched his doorwings until he'd had to offline their entire sensor grid. But then, at the end, he'd even gone one step further, and despite Prowl's repeated insistence that he never wished to be jacked into again, had held him down and jacked into him anyway.

It had taken a decaorn for Prowl's self-repair systems to heal his port's internal sensors.

Sentinel had walked off and left him there afterwards, laughing at his pain before exiting. Prowl had shut down his entire emotional program to stop his reaction, wondering how long he'd be abandoned there. He lay on the berth, unable to move from both the pain and the cuffs, and literally watched the evil bunching in the room's corners. Material darkness – a detectable presence, a blackness that broke through ancient tales of Unicron – coated him with a heavy film of fear and hate that bypassed his emotional cortex to dive straight into his spark. The presence so was thick and dense he wondered whether, if he could move, he'd be able to touch it. If it'd be hot and scorch him or cold and freeze his fingers. The evil roiled in the room's corners, tumbling upon itself, lashing at the air, growling and expanding like a thundercloud and suffocating him until he knew – far past the realm of science or data – that evil was _real,_ not some abstract quality assigned to others. Evil was real, and Sentinel had demonstrated it upon him. His intakes had shut down from the oppressiveness of it, leaving his systems to slowly run hot.

In the end, the battle alarm had sounded, and when he'd not shown up, Jazz had searched for him. He'd hacked Sentinel's lock when Teletraan-Beta had indicated where Prowl was, worried about why he hadn't responded to his comm. Although Jazz had only been assigned to Kaon for a stellar cycle, they had already built a strong friendship, and only Jazz's pure care, interrupted only by his anger at Sentinel, had kept Prowl from losing his sanity. That support and love had never left his side as he recovered, sealing a friendship that could not be broken.

A sudden presence at his side pulled Prowl from his memories. Ratchet leaned over him. "Your processor is certainly working hard to clear your cache. Dare I ask what you haven't been sorting and filing in that overactive mind of yours?"

Prowl shook his head. "I was trying to conserve energy by just backlogging it all earlier."

Ratchet frowned. "That's a dangerous move. You could crash yourself that way."

"I was being careful." Prowl sat up slowly, glancing around the medbay and seeing most mechs were still unconscious. "Is Prime all right?"

"Yes." Ratchet shooed him off of the berth. "He wants to see you immediately. Now get. I've got a half-dozen 'bots with my name on them."

Prowl didn't need to be told twice; he hated being in medbay. It always gave him too much time to think and reminded him of past horrors. But even as he queried Teletraan 1 about Optimus Prime's location and then headed to his office, his thoughts remained on past horrors anyway.

The orn following the rape, when Sentinel had lain dead at his feet, the victim of Megatron, Prowl's only thought was that Sentinel had been rejected by the Matrix. The Matrix, sensing the evil growing in his spark, had withdrawn its power from Sentinel in his own personal darkest hour, ensuring his death so that it could be trusted to a pure spark instead. Emotionlessly, Prowl had ordered the troops to retreat from Kaon. The others had collected Sentinel's body, arranging for a proper Prime's burial in Iacon and mourning their leader. But Prowl, knowing the Matrix would not want to be left in one who had turned evil, had removed the powerful entity from Sentinel before he was put in his coffin rather than waiting for Alpha Trion to do so. The others had been horrified, but Jazz had stood by Prowl's decision. Interestingly, Alpha Trion had not questioned Prowl's choice, accepting the Matrix from him with a simple "Thank you" when he reached Iacon.

Both during and after the official Matrix Passing ceremony, Prowl had watched the new Prime carefully, but Optimus showed none of the character flaws Sentinel had possessed. What was more, Optimus had never assumed he should have the troops' trust by spark-right and had set out to earn it, Prowl's in particular. Over the millennia, Prowl had slowly built that trust with Optimus as well as recovered from his rape.

What he had not recovered from was the black feeling of oppression, fear, and suffocation that the thought of relationships brought to his mind. He did not want to struggle for his freedom, be weighed down by another's demands, or fight against another's domination again. He did not want that clingy possessiveness, immature jealousy, petty bickering, or insensitive 'facing. Being alone was far preferable, or so he'd told himself until he'd found himself lying awake at night, processor fixed on the memory of Optimus' gentle hands and lips caressing his doorwings, slipping into his port, making him moan. It had been the antithesis of anything Prowl believed was possible in his life, and then earlier that orn, Optimus had mentioned something about protecting him. Protection? Cherishment? _Care?_

Now Prowl didn't know what to want, exactly. Make peace with Prime? Pursue his attentions? Let this drive them apart? Run away emotionally? All he knew was that love, or rather the specter that made a mockery of it, had risen to hurt and confuse him once again.

He hit the buzzer for Prime's office and stared listlessly at the door.

"Enter," came Prime's deep voice, and the door triggered open.

Prowl stepped into the office, drawing back his shoulders, perking his doorwings, and lifting his chin. "Reporting as ordered, sir."

Prime stood from his desk and waved through the air with one hand. "You're not on duty. For that matter, neither am I in an official sense. I'm not up for a round of the Wrath of Ratchet, and the Sky Spy reports that the Decepticons' shipment of Cybertronium hasn't even arrived on Earth yet. We should be safe for now, although Chip, Carly, and Spike are watching the monitors for us."

Relaxing his stance, Prowl nodded and walked up to the desk. "What may I do for you, then?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, but the black anxiety or regret was absent from Prime at the moment. Perhaps nothing personal would be mentioned.

"You may listen to me." Prime squared his shoulders.

Prowl had the immediate urge to bolt. "Sir, I—"

"Don't call me 'sir' in this context." Prime stepped around the desk, heading right for him.

Prowl backed up a step, then two. "But I'm unsure I — " _can bear to hear what you'll say next._

Closing the distance between them in a single step, Prime looped one arm around his back, pressing his palm against his canopy, and captured Prowl's hand with his free hand. "Listen," he whispered softly.

Prowl froze. The arm around him was . . . warm. The hand holding his was both warm and gentle. He stared up into Prime's optics, sure to see regret or pity but instead seeing something more like quiet desperation. Fear crawled across his paint, but Prime pressed both their hands against his chest. Prowl could feel the strong spark-beat beneath the plates.

Optimus inhaled deeply through his intakes. "Prowl, I'm hoping what has happened here is merely a terrible misunderstanding. That is, the way you asked me earlier about our so-called 'mistake' gives me hope it is."

Prowl flinched just hearing the word and turned his stare to the desk. "But you _said_ it was a mistake, what happened between us."

"I meant that it was a mistake that I made love to you while we were inebriated," Prime said quietly. "_That_ kind of mistake." He pressed Prowl's hand to his chestplates, as though to say Prowl should leave it there, then reached out and tilted Prowl's chin upward. "Look at me."

Prowl returned his gaze to Prime's face and jumped slightly when he retracted his battle mask. Any words he could have spoken gelled in his processor at the sight of the affectionate gaze Prime gave him.

"I never meant to imply it was a mistake to show you the depth of my care." A tender smile graced Prime's lips. "I remember I said that night that you should be cherished. Do you remember?"

Prowl felt a tremor run through his frame at the question and nodded his head slowly. He felt a dampness in his optics as his systems began to overheat from his sudden stress. Not a mistake to care for him? Not a mistake to cherish him?

"Do you think I lied?" Prime traced one finger up his jaw, then down his cheek. "I told you earlier that I wanted to protect you. I didn't just mean in that moment, and I will take care of you . . . if you'll let me. But I would never force my affections upon you. You need to tell me how you feel about this."

Prowl realized he was trembling. _Protection? Care? Affection? For me?_ He could feel the coolant standing in his optics and the heat building in his logic circuits.

_'You need to be cherished'. . . . _

"What do you want?" Prowl whispered, caught between a nightmare and a dream, a black past and a confusing present.

Prime watched him with clear concern. "You, at my side." He cupped his cheek. "Please, what's wrong?"

Unable to answer, Prowl shook his head, the tears escaping to run down his cheeks. He had been so sure Prime regretted it, that such care could never be aimed his way. But Jazz's claim that Prime loved him rushed back into his processor, and he didn't even know what to think anymore.

"Prowl," Optimus murmured, leaning down and kissing his face, kissing the bitter coolant from his cheeks, raining those butterfly kisses over the arch of his nose and across his chevron. He slipped his other arm around Prowl's waist, hugging him gently.

Prowl gasped, inadvertently venting the heat from his logic circuits and easing the pain building in his frame. He could still feel Prime's spark-beat under his palm. The past and present seemed to collide in his processor, leaving his feelings scrambled, but a part of his spark seemed to surge forward, as though it would claw its way to Prime's. He lifted his face, wanting assurance this was real, and Prime's lips immediately met his, pressing a series of tender kisses upon him. A strong, warm hand caressed his canopy; the other cupped his helm.

"Mmm." Prowl hadn't meant to vocalize the little moan, but as soon as he did, Prime captured his lips fully, sucking on his lower lip. Prowl parted his lips, flicking his glossa outward in a small test, and immediately Prime met his move. Their glossae caressed each other, at first hesitantly and then with more passion. Prowl ran his arms around Prime's shoulders, pulling him closer, his memories of their night together seeming less like a dream and more like a future reality.

Optimus moaned deep in his throat, his engine growling faintly in unison, and he resumed stroking Prowl's back with his hand, caressing the contours of Prowl's canopy. However, Prowl broke the kiss, not wanting them to get out of control – again – and not knowing what to make of the sudden development.

"What's wrong?" Prime asked softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his chevron.

Prowl really didn't know how else to be except blunt and honest. "Does this mean you wish to build a relationship with me?'

Optimus chuckled. "Yes, I most definitely do."

"A long term one?" Prowl had no idea how to feel about this sudden revelation. No one had wanted him this way in millions of stellar cycles, save the elderly bot who had wished to dote on him, and he hadn't wanted anyone, either.

"If you are willing." Optimus pressed another kiss to the arch of his nose.

That was the one question for which Prowl did not have a clear answer. It felt so good to be held in Prime's arms, so warm and surprisingly safe.

And yet . . .

What did Prime really mean by wanting to protect him and take care of him? Did he see him as weak? But he had said he wanted Prowl at his side. Was this abstraction called love even real? 'Bots blathered about it all the time, but they hopped from partner to partner, trading easy 'I love you's but never staying together.

The specter of suffocation, possession, conflict, and pain rose in Prowl's memory banks. "I don't know yet what I want," he whispered, dropping his gaze.

"That's fine." Prime cupped his helm and pressed his head to his chest. "I sprang all this on you without warning. Take as much time as you need to make your decision. I will wait for you."

That, at least, sounded nothing like what Sentinel would have said. Nothing like anything he _had_ said. "Thank you," Prowl whispered. He was terribly relieved to know Prime truly cared for him and assigned meaning to their interfacing, even if it had been while inebriated. That, however, did not solve his new problem, and the thought of pulling apart all the strands of his past and facing the hurt was daunting. It had always been such a black topic for him that he'd had to stifle a literal growl of anger when mechs broached the subject with him.

Now, though . . . now something about Optimus and their long history as friends appealed to him. Perhaps it was something he'd seen in Prime while he'd dated Elita, or perhaps something in the care and respect he'd shown him during interfacing despite their being drunk.

Prowl shivered faintly, Prime's warm body pressed against his suddenly drawing up his memories. Even now Prime's hand caressed his back, his fingers brushing close to his door hinges. He felt the heat rising in his circuits at the thought of Optimus ravishing his doorwings again: caressing the panels, licking the senor nodes, sucking on the tips . . . A stronger shiver moved through him, and he lifted his face again, catching Prime's gaze. Optimus smiled at him and ran his fingertips over his face in a gentle caress before kissing him once again. Warmth seemed to expand directly from Prowl's spark –a sensation he'd thought he'd never feel again.

Yes, Prowl thought hazily. He was willing to examine the pain. For Prime, he would repeal his insistence he'd never consider dating again, even if the thought did scare him.

This would not be easy.

* * *

_Postscript: __Allow me to thank, very deeply, the following for reviews: Sear, blue bimbomushi, OrianPrime92, BitterSweetDrug, Lanner, Yami-Yugi3, Optimus Bob, Carmilla DeWinter, and Carlough. I love you guys!_


	4. Toxic

_A/N: This chapter references "Triple Takeover" (one of the only two episodes to contain G1 Skids!)._

_The reboot inhibitor is from Crimson Starlight._

_::comm. link::_

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_**Chapter 4: Toxic**_  
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Prowl stared at the uniform grey of the cabin: bare steel floor, grey walls, steel chairs, metal berth. Where was he? He recognized this place. Oh, yes! Sentinel Prime's quarters – the quarters he'd sometimes shared with Sentinel in Kaon. Wait, why was he back here?_

_The door swooshed open, admitting Sentinel. "Frag, what a slagging mess that was." He walked past Prowl without even looking at him. "Spare me the political pandering of senators. I'd rather just get in a fight any orn." He plopped into one chair, the one made for his massive frame. "I need you to ease my neck cables. They're coiled stupidly tight."_

_Prowl clenched and unclenched his fists in nervousness. That's right: there was something he needed to say, something important. "Okay." He walked over, standing behind the chair and digging his fingers into the stiff cables. He always had to use nearly all his strength to give Sentinel a massage. "Do you really think I should learn to speak up more?" He tried to sound logical, reasonable. "That I'm often too silent?"_

_"Yep." Sentinel stretched his neck to the left, then the right. "If you're not talking about law or tactics, you act like you have no opinion and let others walk all over you. That's why everyone thinks you're emotionless and bland. You really do need to assert yourself more, let them see the real you."_

_The energon seemed to pound through his lines with his fear. Sentinel wouldn't like what he was going to say, but it did hurt Prowl. Maybe, just maybe, Sentinel could see that Prowl was finally breaking the silence like he'd encouraged him to do. "Well, there's something we need to talk about, then."_

_Sentinel grew very still. "Okay."_

_Prowl pulled air through his intakes slowly. "I . . . I feel that when you accuse me of flirting with other mechs that you don't trust me. You know I would never cheat on you. You know I believe in fidelity. And I've never flirted with anyone. I'm not even any good at flirting. Don't you believe in me?"_

_Sentinel suddenly slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, Prowl, I realize you won't cheat. It's just that Redline hurt me so much. We were together before I even became Prime, and I gave him everything. But as soon as I was named Prime and transferred here, he began 'facing Senator Stormrunner behind my back! It just ripped my spark out." He sighed heavily. "Redline promised he'd stop, but then he'd go right back to Stormrunner, and I -"_

_Not even hearing the familiar story anymore, Prowl stared at Sentinel's back, wondering why it was all about Sentinel's feelings and past wounds. What about Prowl's feelings? "But it makes me feel like you don't trust me," he repeated._

_Sentinel paused, then stood and walked around the chair, taking both of Prowl's hands in his and leaning over him. "I just can't shake my fear is all. It's not really about you."_

That's probably the most honest thing you've ever said,_ Prowl thought, suddenly irritated. _It's apparently _all_ about you._ "But I feel-"_

_A sad frown pulled down the corners of Sentinel's lips, and his optics dimmed. "Oh, Prowl. You know I couldn't take it if you cheated on me. If you left me, too, I think I'd kill myself."_

_Prowl stared at him, struck mute by his sudden belief that Sentinel would do just that. "I'm never going to leave you." He wasn't sure what to do. He was genuinely angry at Sentinel for constantly questioning him about where he was, who he was with, and why he seemed happier speaking to his new friend Jazz than when they spoke. But he knew Sentinel had been hurt badly by his previous lover, so shouldn't he give him the chance to heal? Would he ever heal?_

_"I'm sorry." Sentinel leaned down a pressed a kiss to his lips. "Let me make it up to you." His smile turned into more of a leer, and he reached out to caress one of Prowl's doorwings._

_Prowl jerked away. That was how Sentinel liked to make up. Interfacing seemed to be on Sentinel's mind all the time, in fact, but it wasn't the type of assurance Prowl needed. "There is one more thing."_

_Sentinel's frown had returned. "What?"_

_"It's about the hardline jacking." Prowl stepped back, nervous again. It really _was_ hard for him to speak up about personal matters. He wasn't used to anyone valuing what he had to say outside of duty. Starting with his creators, everyone he'd ever known had always gotten mad at him, yelled at him, and made him out to be the bad guy. "I gave it a second chance since you asked me to, but it's very uncomfortable for me. At moments, even painful. I need us to stick to softline uplinks."_

_Throwing up his hands, Sentinel exhaled explosively. "We talked about this after the first time, didn't we? I already apologized for that, okay? I know I hurt you the first time. I'm sorry, all right? But it's something you have to adjust to. The receiver always does. We don't need to give up just because it didn't work the first two times."_

_Prowl stared at him in utter shock, Sentinel's callousness and audacity angering him. "But it _hurts_."_

_"I'll do better next time!" Sentinel shook his head. "I thought we'd already settled this. Besides, you said that after the initial sting, it didn't hurt the second time."_

_Prowl's temper finally flared. "That's not the point!" His energon seemed to boil in his tank, lashing at and burning his insides. "It doesn't feel good for me. I prefer uplinking with cables or through energy fields. Those are both pleasurable."_

_"What about what I want?" Sentinel crossed his arms. "Hardline jacking feels best for me. And I've done plenty for you, haven't I?" He flung one arm out wide. "I've kept our relationship a secret since you think it'll cause too much of a stir. I agreed to us keeping separate quarters even though what I really want is for us to live together. Can't you give something back to me, or is this all about you?"_

_Prowl shook his head, stunned by the sudden direction this was going. "I stay overnight with you a lot." He collected his scattered thoughts and sliced one hand through the air. "No! That's not the point. The public or private nature of our relationship and where or how we live are separate issues. _I'm_ talking about interfacing. I'm telling you that hardline jacking doesn't work for me. It's uncomfortable at best. If you love me, then work with me here. There are many different ways to overload."_

_"_If I love you!_" Sentinel bellowed. "I love you so much my slaggin' spark burns. I can't believe you said that!" He stomped up to Prowl and leaned over him. "I think you've already made up your mind here. You've made up your mind about everything. _You_ decided if we'd keep this a secret. _You_ decided if we'd live together or not. And now _you've_ decided how we'll interface, too. And on top of it all, you apparently don't even trust that I love you!"_

_Prowl felt all his anger drain from him. All his emotions, period. Once again, he had tried to speak up for himself, and once again, he was now the bad guy. "That's not what I meant."_

_Sentinel stepped forward, looming over him and forcing him to take a step back. "It's not? Well, how else am I supposed to take it? 'If you love me, then work with me here'? If? How am I supposed to 'work with' you on _anything_ if you don't even _trust_ that I love you!"_

_Nothing. Prowl could feel absolutely nothing except a vague undercurrent of hopelessness. "Please, let me explain"_

_Sentinel didn't seem to even hear him. "Maybe I'm wrong." He flung up both arms. "Maybe I'm insensitive. Mean. Bad. Selfish. Maybe you're right. But how am I supposed to 'work with' you if you don't trust me? Hardline jacking takes trust! Trust you apparently don't feel." He started stalking forward again, pointing his finger in Prowl's face and forcing him back toward the wall. "Love is based on trust, you know. I can't 'work with' you about our interfacing if you can't trust that I love you."_

_"Please, let me explain," Prowl repeated calmly. There was no way to deal anything if Sentinel was hysterical._

_"Sure, explain." Sentinel crossed his arms again. "Explain away. But I don't see what there is to explain. If, after all these stellar cycles, you still can't trust that I love you, then I'm not sure what else I can possibly do. You've already made up your mind about everything to do with us, and I can't _make_ you trust me."_

_It had spun so far out of control Prowl wasn't sure how to deal with it anymore. "That's not what I meant."_

_Sentinel stomped forward another step, pushing Prowl against the wall. "Oh, I think you said exactly what you meant. And that's the crux of the matter, is it not? Even after all this time, after how much I've loved you, how much I've given to you, how much I've agreed to do things your way to make you happy, you don't even believe I love you! I don't know what you want me to do here. You tell me to 'work with' you, but then you give me something like _this?_"_

_Prowl crossed his arms over his stomach and looked away. He hadn't meant any of that. This entire 'conversation' had ended up in a place he never intended. "I'm sorry. Never mind. I tried to speak up, but I guess I said all the wrong things."_

_"Well, you _should_ speak up. That's a good thing." Sentinel straightened his posture so that he wasn't looming over Prowl anymore. "But your accusation was _wrong._"_

_"I'm sorry." Prowl felt coolant burning in his optics; his main processor was so overheated it ached. He felt like the coolant might burst lines trying to do its job. "You know how much I . . . how hard it is for me to . . . but I was getting so angry about it all. So I decided to say something – you know, break the silence. But then I said it all wrong."_

_Sentinel reached up and cupped his cheek. "Oh, Prowl. It's okay." He pulled him into his arms and hugged him. "I get what you were trying to do now, but . . . Well, okay. If you're that uncomfortable with hardline jacking, we'll leave it alone."_

_Prowl didn't pull away from the hug, but he found himself staring listlessly at the wall. Once again, he'd been punished for speaking up. Yelled at. Forced to invalidate his own pain in order to mitigate another's. It didn't even matter what words Prowl used because _Sentinel didn't care how he felt._ Sentinel had rushed to defend himself, excuse himself, make it about him and his pain and never actually heard a word Prowl had said._

_And he didn't believe, not for an astrosecond, that Sentinel would completely drop the issue of hardline jacking. They might go a few decaorns without discussing it, but as soon as Sentinel really wanted it again, he'd be nagging Prowl for it._

_Prowl sighed, almost not even feeling the hand rubbing his back. Many times he'd wanted to break up with Sentinel, but he was the Prime. Prowl was the SIC. What would happen? Where would he go?_

I'm a fool,_ Prowl thought as the last of his emotions slipped away.  
_  
-o-

_What have I done?_

Prowl jerked out of recharge, the thought crashing through his processor. "I'm doing it again!" he gasped aloud, staring at his room in terror. The shadows seemed bunched into the corners. "If something goes wrong . . . Primus!"

He lay back down, the energon in his tanks roiling with his self-hate and fear. The horrible memory-file dump wasn't fading fast enough. _I know better. What am I doing? I never want to be manipulated and abused like that ever again!_

It had been a living nightmare that never seemed to end. Sentinel had accused Prowl of not trusting him when it was actually _Sentinel_ who didn't trust _him_. He'd indirectly run off all of Prowl's budding friends except Jazz by starting so many fights with Prowl about his so-called flirting that Prowl had begun to avoid others just to keep from having the arguments. And even after promising him that night that they'd 'leave it alone,' Sentinel had nagged Prowl to resume hardline jacking and accused Prowl of not loving him when he resisted. Then, eventually, Sentinel had just flat-out raped him.

But even prior to that unthinkable night, every single last time Prowl had tried to stand up for himself or defend himself, Sentinel had twisted all his words around until Prowl was the bad guy instead. Sentinel would hurt Prowl, and in the end, Prowl would end up apologizing for his own pain.

_I can't do this again,_ Prowl thought, terrified. _I can't put myself through all that oppression and suffocation. I'll end up struggling for my freedom again, fighting to have a voice, and resisting another's dominance. I can't do it. I can't handle more possessiveness, more jealousy, more crushing of my very essence under another's demands._.

Resigned and miserable, Prowl decided to tell Optimus how he felt in the morning. Maybe if he stopped it at this stage, the yelling and screaming and accusing and blaming would be mercifully short.

"Primus," he cursed, shuddering. _How could have I been so stupid?_

oOoOo

Jazz smiled as he headed toward Prowl's office, intent on finding his friend and seeing what his reaction to his new relationship was. Jazz had stopped by Prime's office to give him the information he and Mirage had gathered on the 'Cons – namely that they were only now administering their Cybertronium replacements. When he'd walked in to find Optimus humming to himself, however, he'd immediately wormed out of Prime why he was so chipper.

"Finally," Jazz muttered to himself, glad his friends were past their misunderstanding and hopefully ready to date. _If Prowl doesn't freak out first,_ Jazz thought, frowning.

And sure enough, Prowl, looking dour and determined, turned the corner and nearly ran into Jazz in his dash toward Prime's office.

_Slag,_ Jazz thought, grabbing Prowl's wrist and halting his progress. "Wait, man. Before ya go do what I know yer gonna do, talk to me first."

Prowl frowned at him in obvious confusion. "What am I going to do?"

"Tell Prime datin' is a bad idea and go hide in yer office for the next vorn." Jazz's smile was mirthless. "Come on. Let's go." He began tugging a shocked Prowl down the hall and refused to let go.

Finally, Prowl followed him to Jazz's office, looking askance at the mess it was in. "How do you find anything?" he asked as he took a seat across from Jazz's desk. "It looks worse than the last time I dared to come in here."

Jazz just smirked, brushing piles of datapads, music media, and empty energon cubes out of his way so he could sit on his desk. "No changin' the subject. Spill it. I know you were gonna waltz in there and break up with Prime before anythin' even happened."

Prowl crossed his arms and stared off into the room's corner. "So, Prime told you what happened." He exhaled heavily through his vents. "I just . . . I can't do this, Jazz. I don't think I can stand having my freedom clipped again or struggling against someone for equal voice and equal say."

"It's not gonna be like last time," Jazz said quietly. "Optimus is nothin' like Sentinel. I mean, just look at the way Optimus is with the troops. He listens to us, even lets us weigh in on things. He's not the type to stand around and dictate to ya on a personal level." _Exactly what I was afraid of,_ he thought, hiding a frown. _He's spooked before they can even go on one date._

Abruptly shifting in his chair, Prowl brought both knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. "No, it's more than that." His gaze seemed pinned on the desk's edge. "I don't believe in love. I wish I could say I do, but I don't. All I see are mechs who want to get power over me, dominate me, possess me, and turn me into someone they can abuse. All I see is that evil roiling in corners, lashing the air with its darkness, pressing down upon me and crushing me. Evil that seeps into my lines, contaminates me, claims it is love, and lies. It's toxic. Abuse disguised as pleasure."

Horrified, Jazz slipped off the desk and knelt at Prowl's side, gently pulling on one arm until he could hold his hand. "Not all mechs are like Sentinel, I promise. I'm not. In any relationship I've ever been in, includin' the one with Mirage, I've always been the pursuer. The protector. The lover. I prefer to give pleasure rather than receive it, so I'm usually –but not always – 'on top.' But that's not the same as dominatin' someone. I don't 'own' Mirage. I don't abuse him or see myself as better than or more powerful than he is."

"Maybe you're one of a kind." Prowl wouldn't look at him. "You know, Optimus said something about wanting to protect me and take care of me. Are you _sure_ he doesn't think I'm weak?"

Jazz clasped Prowl's hand between both his own and squeezed it. "Answer me honestly: do ya think that I believe Mirage is weak? Do ya think I believe he can't defend himself?"

Prowl frowned and slowly shifted his gaze to meet Jazz's. "No. You send him on solo missions and let him hold his own in a fight."

"But still I wanna be his protector." Jazz chewed on his lip, trying to figure out a way to explain it. He wanted so much for Prowl to be able to understand an equal relationship and to experience one, too. "Maybe 'protect' is the wrong word. I wanna be his champion. The one who stands up for him, believes in him, supports his dreams, and sticks by him no matter what. Sure, I'll kick afts for him if he ever needs me to. But we're takin' care of each other. He's gonna be standin' by me, supportin' my dreams, and coverin' my back, too."

Prowl pulled his hand away and resumed glaring at the desk. "And the lover part? With Sentinel, I was basically just a victim. He wanted to be the one giving pleasure, too – as in, controlling pleasure." A look of disgust washed over his face, curling up his lip. "He got a power rush from being 'on top.' He really didn't care what I was or wasn't getting from it except for how powerful it made him feel. It was all about _him._ It wasn't 'facing. It was just power-lust."

The surge of pain was so intense Jazz thought he might cry. Just knowing the agony Prowl had to feel in order to say such words made his spark burn in anguish, and he laid a gentle hand on his friend's arm. "Prowler . . . a lover loves. That's his sole purpose: to give love, to bring pleasure, to inspire joy." Jazz wondered if there was any way to express the sheer amount of selfless love he felt for Mirage to want to do that for him. "Sentinel had no love in him. He was a walkin' disease, a total mockery of anythin' a lover could or should be. It's not _supposed_ to be about power _at all._"

Prowl snorted.

Jazz didn't give up. "Different mechs have different preferences. Some prefer to give pleasure, some to receive it, and some a bit of both. So what? That doesn't mean one has power and the other doesn't. And it sure don't imply some kinda value judgment, like one version is better than the other. Yer right: what Sentinel did to ya wasn't 'facing. It was just abuse."

Prowl finally met his gaze again and unfolded his legs to sit normally. "To . . . to give love and pleasure?"

"Selflessly," Jazz said with utter conviction. Inside, he ached for his friend. If Prowl was still stuck on that most basic truth, he had a long way to go.

Prowl leaned forward slightly. "And you think Optimus is . . . like you?"

"Hey, if I didn't think so, I would _never_ let him anywhere near ya." Jazz lifted his visor, revealing his optics so Prowl could see the depth of his determination – or rather the sheer _threat_ contained there. "Ain't no one ever gonna hurt ya again. If they even try, even if it's Prime himself, there won't be parts enough left to collect for spares."

A small smile, melancholy but affectionate, bent up the corners of Prowl's mouth. "I believe you."

"Good, then please give Prime -"

The office door chime buzzed, then the door opened without further warning. Optimus stuck his head into the room. "I need you both on the command deck. We have an emergency."

"Yes, sir." Prowl jumped to his feet and immediately rushed from the room.

Jazz followed several steps behind his commanding officers, cursing the interruption and praying to Primus that Prowl would give Optimus a chance.

oOoOo

Prowl frowned at Teletraan 1's main view screen, shifting through the video feed the Sky Spy was sending him. Optimus had left with Ironhide and Trailbreaker to answer a distress call from the Portland police concerning Union Station. Apparently Astrotrain was wreaking havoc there. What bothered Prowl, though, was the eerie absence of Megatron and Starscream. Powerglide had reported seeing them earlier, but they'd vanished in the Portland area.

Despite his best efforts to track down his enemies, though, Prowl's thoughts wandered back to his conversation with Jazz: _'a lover loves. That's his sole purpose: to give love, to bring pleasure, to inspire joy.'_

Prowl leaned back in his chair, his optics not really seeing the video feed of Portland. Indistinct images of skyscrapers vaguely registered as grey blobs on his processor. _A lover loves,_ he thought to himself, turning the concept over in his mind. A selfless love . . . love as selflessness. A wish to see to another's happiness and pleasure first. It was all so foreign.

And yet, it made sense. Despite feeling awkward and being unable to speak up in social situations, Prowl had detailed knowledge and understanding of psychology. Such information was necessary for a tactician: he needed to understand as much about the enemy's mindset and likely reactions as he did the battlefield's layout and effective strategies. He knew, therefore, what love was supposed to be and what it was supposed to inspire 'bots to do.

Love made mechs die for each other on the battlefield.

Love made mechs push themselves to their final joule of energy in order to reach and save those they cared for.

Love made mechs bond their very essences together, bond their life-force energy so tightly that it became inseparable and could cause dual deaths should one spark-mate be killed.

"Selfless," Prowl murmured to himself. No matter how he reduced it, love came down to a moment of willing self-sacrifice when under pressure. From that point of view, the lover's main task was indeed to ensure the other's happiness and pleasure.

Exhaling heavily through his air vents, Prowl returned his attention to the Sky Spy, which was now focusing on Union Station. A horde of police cars surrounded it, but Trailbreaker and Ironhide were talking with the humans, likely asking them to stay back so they wouldn't be hurt. Prime was nowhere to be seen, and Prowl wondered if he had found and confronted Astrotrain yet.

But Prowl could no more than think Prime's name before his attention was turned to their potential relationship. He realized he had no good reason _not_ to give Prime a chance and see if this selfless love could really be aimed his way. Prowl didn't really see that happening, but after talking with Jazz, it seemed illogical to preempt finding out. He'd have a lot of questions to ask Prime, though, especially about interfacing.

Pressing his fingers to his temple, Prowl rubbed his helm as though he could reach inside his head and ease the building heat and pain in his processor. Interfacing . . . Prowl actually had no real preference between giving or receiving pleasure and had been initially unbothered by Sentinel's desire to be the giver. In fact, as things had fallen apart, Prowl had found that his turns at giving the pleasure had become a chore, with Sentinel complaining he was doing it wrong or asking him to try things that made him uncomfortable. It had become easier just to let Sentinel be 'in control', except Prowl began to realize that Sentinel was only concerned with Sentinel's pleasure. That is unless he was having one of his phases of "see how awesome I am as a lover: I'm the very best, so worship me in awe."

Prowl hated the smirk that formed on Sentinel lips on those nights. It made him feel like an object of conquest instead of a mech. Like he had no soul or spark at all. And, once again, it was really all about Sentinel.

"Prowl?" Blaster's voice interrupted his thoughts.

Prowl glanced towards the communication terminal. "Yes?"

"Prime reports Blitzwing has, well, gone on a blitz." Blaster cringed. "He's firing on Portland, and there's some kind of odd construction going up near Civic Stadium, which is where he's reportedly attacking from."

Prowl frowned and glanced at the mechs present on the command deck. Figuring out where Megatron and Starscream had gone would have to wait. "Bluestreak, Skids, Tracks, come with me." He stood and turned back to Blaster. "Radio Prime and tell him I'm leading a team to investigate and possibly engage."

"Yes, sir."

Prowl looked over his team, and seeing they were ready, nodded. "Transform and roll out." He initiated his sequence and took off as soon as his tires touched the ground.

Bluestreak followed closely behind him for most of the trip, chatting at him through a private comm. link. ::Are you okay Prowl because you've been really quiet and secluded even for you for several orns now and I've been really worried and then that whole Cybertronium thing happened and we were all in such bad shape and I really want to make sure you're okay.::

Listening with his customary patience, Prowl found it ironic that even though he'd never bonded, he'd still managed to pick up a sparkling. In fact, said 'sparkling' looked up to Optimus as a creator figure, too. _Ironic,_ he thought. ::I'm fine, Bluestreak. The loss and reinfusion of the Cybertronium was hard on all of us, but I think I've recovered nicely.::

::But you weren't okay even before that,:: Bluestreak said. ::You started avoiding everyone after the party we had and you were all tense and I got really worried because you wouldn't even talk to me and I wanted to help but I didn't know what was wrong.::

Despite rumors to the contrary, Bluestreak was no idiot. ::I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was shutting you out.:: Prowl was always genuinely touched by his adopted sparkling's concern, but he couldn't afford to really explain. ::You know how much I hate being over-energized and how poorly it makes me feel. Plus it was a bit awkward for me, considering I didn't mean to get over-energized at all. But I'm fine now.:: He turned his attention to the massive structure that loomed in front of them and opened a public comm. link to his team. ::That is definitely new. It looks almost like a maze.::

::Or a collection of on and off ramps from the Pit,:: Skids said.

::It's _terribly_ ugly,:: Tracks drawled.

Prowl was inclined to agree, but aesthetics were beside the point. ::Enter with caution.:: He drove up the initial ramp and was immediately presented with forks in the road. ::Let's split up and cover more ground. It likely is a maze. If you run into any Decepticons, call for backup and don't engage unless fired upon.::

A chorus of "yes, sirs" met his orders as they each followed different paths. When the endless identical ramps quickly became confusing, Prowl activated his GPS and boosted all his sensors; however, all the feedback was jumbled. _Not good,_ he thought. He activated his comm. as well. ::We have interference. Turn around and trace your route back to the entrance.::

Dead air.

He slowed down, deciding to turn around anyway. He needed to get backup, and hopefully at least one member of his team had come to the same conclusion. Unfortunately, his ramp was merging with another one, and the disruption of all his sensors left him with only an astrosecond's warning that another mech was near. He slammed on his breaks, but it was too late: he crashed into Skids. The world erupted into white pain and grey static then plunged into darkness.

oOoOo

The bright lights of medbay glared off the orange-gold walls and floor, generating a garish pall over the room and its inhabitants. Optimus Prime stood in the doorway, struck mute by the horror before him. Ratchet, Wheeljack, Hoist, Grapple, and Perceptor rushed from berth to berth, attending to Prowl, Skids, Tracks, and Bluestreak. However, Prime's attention was riveted to Prowl to the point all the voices in the room seemed muffled and distant.

_"Get the spark monitor attached!"_

_"The energon loss is nearly critical! Where is that IV?"_

_"He's stabilized. Attach a reboot inhibitor and get then get over to Tracks!"_

For a solid klik, Prime couldn't move, only stare in horror at the sight before him as the medics yelled. He wasn't sure he'd seen anything so gruesome since the early orns of the war. Prowl and his team were so badly disfigured they barely looked like mechs. Prowl's arms and legs were twisted and partially flattened, and energon was splattered over his entire body. Spilt energon had pooled under his body and escaped to run in rivulets down the berth's sides. Even his headlights were cracked and his grille torn. Had Prowl's face and doorwings not been intact, Prime wasn't sure he would have been able to recognize him.

_What in the frag happened?_ Optimus wondered hollowly. Powerglide had mentioned something about a throne, but that didn't explain the flattening or the extent of the injuries.

When Ratchet and Wheeljack left Prowl's side to move to Bluestreak, Prime forced himself out of his daze to walk to Prowl's side. He knew better than to distract his medics and medical aides, so he asked no questions, knowing Prowl was stabilized and they wouldn't leave Prowl's side if he weren't. He took Prowl's crushed hand gently into his own, and for a moment he felt coolant burning his optics.

"Prowl . . ." Prime's vocalizer choked on his love's name, making it sound more like static. He'd nearly been killed, this mech who was his right hand, his friend, his confident, and his beloved. He'd nearly been killed before Prime had made good on his promise to cherish him or even take him on a single date. And worst of all, Prime had promised him he would protect him, but he hadn't. Although he knew his SIC was perfectly competent, he couldn't help feeling the need to ensure his safety, and the failure thrashed his spark and burnt across his body in every place Prowl was hurt.

Reaching out his free hand, Optimus gently touched his fingertips to Prowl's battered cheek, his gaze caught on the dark, offline optics. The dermal plating was cool but soft to his touch, and he compulsively checked the vital stats monitor and energon IV attached to Prowl. Everything seemed fine, but a wave of worry burnt through Prime's circuits. "Live," he whispered, releasing his battle mask and lifting the crushed hand to his lips. "I love you. Please live."

He knelt there by the berth, carefully tracing his fingers over the shattered grille, cracked headlights, and bloodied waist. For one crazy moment, he wished he had all Ratchet's medical knowledge so he could make it right – fix Prowl himself. But he knew very little beyond basic first aid, and he cursed his helplessness even as he pressed a gentle kiss to Prowl's crushed hand.

After a breem, Prime became aware of a faint hum in Prowl's systems, almost as though he were trying to come online. The reboot inhibitor would stop him from regaining full consciousness, but Optimus felt the urge to talk to him anyway. "It's okay, love," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss into his palm. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there to protect you, but I swear to do my best to take care of you for as long as you live. I will cherish you always, so just hang on for me."

Prowl didn't move, but Optimus sensed a fluctuation in his energy field. Unsure what to make of it, he held Prowl's hand to his cheek. It occurred to him belatedly that he was making a highly public display of his feelings, but when he glanced over medbay, he saw that all the medics were too busy to pay him any attention. Jazz, though, had just entered the room and was headed straight for him.

"Sir, I know you don't want to leave his side," Jazz said, grim, "but Powerglide reports that the situation has begun escalating again and Megatron and Starscream are still nowhere to be found."

Prime stared at him, not responding at first. It was his cue to leave, and he was needed back in Portland. The 'Cons were still on their rampage, and he had a duty to protect the humans and their city. However, for a moment Optimus wanted to say no, to take something for himself, to refuse to abandon the side of the one he loved.

The thoughts were vapor and air.

"I'll be right there," Optimus said, his tone flat even to his own audios.

Jazz nodded, then looked over Prime's shoulder in a way that suggested they were no longer alone. Prime glanced and found Ratchet approaching, looking tired but determined.

"We have them all stabilized now," Ratchet said, reaching out to squeeze Prime's shoulder. "Try not to worry about Prowl, sir. His SHU and memory core are intact and unharmed, and scans reveal that his processor and energon conversion tank are both undamaged as well. We should be able to fully repair him, and we'll begin surgery immediately."

Bowing to what he knew was right, Prime nodded and stood, not bothering to care what Ratchet must think of his behavior toward his SIC. "Keep me updated."

Ratchet nodded. "I will, sir."

Trying to wrestle back a surge of bitterness towards the 'Cons and their violence, Prime forced himself to return to Portland to find Megatron and Starscream and finish dealing with the latest Decepticon mess.

But he worried about Prowl the entire way.

* * *

_Postscript: You all are so wonderful, I swear. Thank you so much to my reviewers: Sear, Carlough, HURRICANEHannah (nice to see you back!), Carmilla DeWinter, DJA (I appreciate that!), OrianPrime92, Phoenix13, thepheonixqueen, Yami-Yugi3, Dragon Queen88, Kaede Akira, Optimus Bob, and (I'm sorry—I think I forgot to thank you last time!)._


	5. Loveless

_A/N: This chapter references "Triple Takeover" and a few elements of IDW._

_Remember, I don't have anything against G1 Sentinel Prime (only the TFA version) and am using artistic license to make him a type of villain here._

_

* * *

_

_**Chapter 5: Loveless**_

Optimus stood just outside the ruined Civic Stadium, watching Megatron, Starscream, Astrotrain, Blitzwing, and Devastator fight each other. The entire situation was everything he expected from his enemies: violent, chaotic, even nonsensical, and always about power and control. His gaze fell upon the ripped up Astroturf and the smashed stadium seats, and he exhaled heavily through his vents. Still, there was no need for him to get further involved. One goad to Megatron about his leadership or lack thereof was all it had taken, and all it would take, to get the matter settled.

"It's hard just ta watch 'em and not start shootin'," Ironhide grumbled from behind him.

Optimus glanced back at his old friend. "I know, but it'll be over soon." His gaze wandered over the other mechs present. Although Ratchet and the others had just completed their repairs, Bluestreak, Tracks, and Skids had insisted on returning to finish their botched mission. As relieved as he was to see them, he wasn't seeing the one mech he wanted most. Prowl had apparently been hurt the worst.

He wanted so much to leave the 'Cons to their madness, to just pull out and return to base. He needed to see Prowl and his condition for himself, to be at his side when he awakened, to hold his hand again. But being Prime meant ignoring a great deal of what he really wanted, and for a moment, he cursed their war for a far more personal reason.

Megatron's bellowing drew Prime's attention back to his enemies.

"The Decepticon cause supersedes personal vengeance." Megatron glared at his now soundly beaten troops. "But never forget that I, Megatron, will always be leader of the Decepticons!"

Prime's smirk was well-hidden behind his mask as he watched the damaged 'Cons rouse themselves and depart. It had ended just as he had known it would. "Primus," he muttered to himself, sickened to know that so many humans and 'bots alike had suffered over the pathetic attempted takeover. He wandered further into the stadium to inspect the damage.

Ironhide and the others followed close behind. "Ah guess Prime was right," Ironhide said. "Megatron took care'a the Decepticons fer us."

"Yes, but there is only one great leader in the universe," a soft voice Prime didn't expect to hear replied.

Optimus whirled around, sure his audios had deceived him. But no, there stood Prowl, smiling up at him. His paint wasn't as shiny as usual, and a few scuff marks remained. But he was whole, his doorwings perked high on his back and a warm smile quirking up the corners of his pale grey lips.

He'd never seen anything so beautiful.

Although he restrained himself from running over and hugging his SIC, Optimus couldn't dispel the need to touch him, run his hands over his armor, make sure he was truly all right. The thought of doing just that haunted his processor during the entire drive back to the base. Optimus radioed ahead to the _Ark_ and turned over command to Jazz before ordering everyone but Prowl to return and rest.

Prowl pulled up beside Optimus, sitting by him as the others disappeared in a cloud of dust and sand. "Sir?"

"There's a turn-off up ahead that leads to a nice vista," Prime said quietly. "Would you like to relax outside for a bit?"

Prowl only paused for a klik. "Certainly."

Pleased, Prime led the way, turning off onto the dirt road and leaving the packed sand behind. They wove through the pine trees, climbing in altitude as they ascended a mountain, and the wind that whipped over his armor grew cool. The sun was setting, tinting the sky deep rose and leaving a golden sheen at the horizon. Tucked away unseen, crickets chirped, and the air smelled of sweet pine needles. But none of it compared to the panoramic view they found when they reached the cliff Prime wanted: the entire valley stretched out below them, verdant green with waves of pines and the crimson sky hanging above.

For a moment, Prime just sat in his alt mode, enjoying the beauty of Earth's nature and the quiet evening. Prowl stopped right beside him, literally pressed against his side, their armor warm against each other. The closeness made Optimus ache to hold him in his arms, and he transformed, laying a hand on Prowl's canopy just behind the light bar.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Prowl transformed as well, and when Prime kept his hand on his canopy, he leaned into his side. "Exhausted, but fully repaired." A tiny smile quirked the edges of his lips again. "Jazz told me that you stayed by my side for as long as you could earlier, and I thought I heard you speaking at one point."

Leading them back from the edge to sit, Prime leaned against a bolder and enveloped Prowl in his embrace. "I wish I could have stayed until you awakened." He gave into his earlier urge then, running one hand over Prowl's armor, assuring himself that he really was fine. Gently, he ran his fingers over Prowl's chest, up his arm, over his shoulder and tire, and then across his cheek.

Prowl shivered faintly at the touches and leaned into them. "You had to stop the 'Cons and their destruction." He paused, frowning. "To answer the inevitable question: Blitzwing was the one who crushed me. My injuries probably would have been comparatively minor save for that."

A soft growl emanated from Prime's engine at the thought, followed by the urge to pound Blitzwing's face in the next time they met on the battlefield. But violence could be saved for later. Right now, he wanted to comfort Prowl. Retracting his battle mask, Optimus leaned down and brushed his lips over Prowl's. This was all he wanted: Prowl, in his arms where he could love and cherish him. The scare he'd had that orn only made him feel more resolute about doing so. Their medical and engineering technology had gotten advanced enough they could fix almost anything, and it was something they occasionally took for granted. Until he saw Prowl so badly injured, he hadn't realized the depth of terror it could cause him. What if he'd been too damaged to save?

Compulsively, Prime began caressing Prowl's back with his other hand, stroking the length of his canopy and the expanse of one doorwing. "It scared me," he admitted quietly. "I didn't want to leave you. All I wanted to do was make sure you were okay."

Prowl shivered again, his doorwing twitching under Prime's hand. "I-it has been a long time since I've been that badly damaged. Thank you for staying by me as long as you did, even if I wasn't conscious for it."

"Don't thank me," Prime said softly, leaning forward to press a kiss against Prowl's chevron. "I really wish I'd been able to protect you. I promised I would, and then I wasn't there for you." He continued his caresses, relishing the warmth of the armor under his hands, his right hand stroking up Prowl's thigh and over his hip-plate.

"We had to lead separate teams." Seeming distracted, Prowl glanced down as his hips and then back at his doorwing as Prime's left fingers brushed it again. "As much as you may want to protect me, we often have to lead separate teams, and I have H5 combat training. I'm not Ironhide or the twins, but I can defend myself." He pulled away from the touches.

Optimus realized Prowl was trembling slightly. He paused, taking a moment to analyze Prowl's tone of voice and body language. His tone had been logical, not angry or defensive. His doorwings were not pulled up high on his back, either, which was how he held them when angry. However, they were pulled straight back, which meant he was tense or stressed. Normally Prime would assume such a statement would mean 'I can take care of myself, thank you,' but Prowl had no ego or bravado as it concerned fighting. Likely, his comment was simple logic: 'you are being overly ideal, so let me remind you I'll be fine.' That didn't explain Prowl's stress, though.

"I'm sorry," Prime murmured, deciding to treat it like he had offended him. "I didn't mean to insult your skills."

Prowl glanced up at him. "Oh, I know. If you didn't believe in me, you wouldn't let me handle missions."

Logical as always. Prime felt a smile tugging at his lips.

"But I admit I'm still struggling with the concept of the 'protective lover.'" Prowl directed his gaze to Prime's right hand, which still sat on his hip. "And . . . and despite what happened before, I can't just interface right away. I realize some mechs do." He pulled back. "They 'face on the first or second date, even get irritated or break up if their partner won't 'face by at least the fourth date. I never understood it."

Realizing he had been a bit liberal with his caresses, Prime moved his hand to Prowl's waist, then leaned forward and pressed another kiss to the middle of Prowl's chevron. "You don't need to apologize for anything. It's your belief, your opinion, and I happen to agree with you. I hadn't meant for you to think I was coming on to you, and I apologize for making you feel uncomfortable."

After watching his face closely for a klik, Prowl relaxed and let Optimus tuck him against his side again. "I should warn you that none of this is easy for me. My past dating experiences have not been pleasant."

Hugging Prowl close, Optimus dropped a kiss onto the top of his helm and considered his words. He'd replayed in his processor the memory of their night together dozens of times, cherishing every moment of the grainy, low-quality file. There was one part that bothered him, though, and Prowl's comment about his dating experiences brought it to the fore: when Prowl had said his previous lover had been an insensitive aft in the berth. Prime wondered just exactly what that meant. Had his lover been abusive? Had the aft in question been Sentinel? Optimus had never known Prowl to date anyone since he became Prime, and rumor had held that Sentinel and Prowl had nearly bonded. And yet Prowl had never seemed to grieve Sentinel's death. What did it all mean?

"When you feel ready, I would like for you to tell me what you can about that." Prime gently rubbed his arm. "I want to understand so I don't accidentally make you uncomfortable again. But don't feel pressured to tell me."

Prowl nodded. "I have every intention of telling you. I _want_ you to understand. But there is a lot to tell, and I'm not sure how I feel about it all."

"Take your time," Prime murmured, a new surge of protectiveness burning through his lines. He was worried that someone had once abused Prowl, and it angered him to think that anyone would have treated Prowl cruelly, especially to the point of making him so obviously jumpy. Although Prowl wasn't overtly effusive or emotional, he was actually a very sweet mech. Prime had had five million stellar cycles to work side-by-side with Prowl, and he'd learned to recognize Prowl's kindness and care. It was subtle and quiet, never drawing attention to itself, but it was there: care enough to encompass the entire Autobot army.

Although he wasn't sure what was happening, Prime hugged Prowl to his side again, determined to stand by him the way Prowl had always stood by him. He was worth it.

oOoOo

Settling on his recharge berth, Prowl attempted to slow the wild thoughts crashing into each other in his processor. Sadly, it was a useless effort. He ended up staring at the uniform orange-gold of his cabin ceiling and noting stress lines and cracks caused by the _Ark's_ crash. He tried to count them to distract himself, but his mind squarely landed on what was bothering him: the budding relationship between himself and Prime.

Granted, Optimus had been kind to him all orn, checking on him, staying by him as long as he could, and taking him out to watch the sunset. It had made Prowl feel cared for. Special. But as nice as that had been, the mere idea of being in a new relationship still made Prowl tense. Scared. The nightmare he had lived before lurked in his memory banks, quick to assert both itself and the myriad future possibilities and opportunities for total failure and destruction. After all, it wasn't just what could go wrong in the relationship but also how hard it would be if the relationship ended. Sentinel, being both his Prime and a suffocating mech, would have taken monumental, although _not_ impossible, effort to break free of. Granted, Prowl had managed to dodge the process and continue in his role as SIC. However, it wasn't lost on him that if his relationship with Optimus blew up, he could be sent back to Cybertron via Omega Supreme under some perfectly logical excuse, and someone else could be named acting SIC. A worst case scenario, of course, but then again, his relationship with Sentinel had been one long worst case scenario.

Prowl knew he'd never forget the way Jazz and he had plotted to get him clear of Sentinel's obsession. Prowl wasn't sure which way Sentinel would react when Prowl dumped him: violent rage or broken clinging. Either way, Sentinel would never let him go. Not willingly. He would either threaten or cajole. Endless claims, promises, excuses, and manipulations would ensue. And Prowl, being his SIC, would have no way to escape the onslaught because they'd be forced to interact on the job.

The solution had been to no longer be SIC, and it had seemed an acceptable trade. Freedom wasn't just the rally call of the Civil War era Autobots. It was Prowl's personal battle cry as well. It had been painfully etched into his very spark, a lesson he'd never forget . . .

– o –  
_  
Prowl glanced across the little café decorated in warm browns and crèmes. Small tables with fancy, wrought-iron backs were snuggled into every nook and cranny, and a low hum of voices filled the room. Early afternoon was a popular time for Kaon's more elite mechs to sip warm, spiced energon or chilled high-grade and chat, and an equally popular time for business mechs to do the same as they worked to close deals. Two Enforcers were unusual for the crowd, but not enough to really draw attention, which is exactly why Jazz had chosen the spot to talk to him._

_Sure enough, Jazz was in the far corner, which afforded him a view of the door and entire room. Prowl nodded to him and wove his way through the tables. As soon as he placed his order for spiced energon, he met Jazz's somewhat grim gaze and shook his head._

_"Dare I ask?" Jazz murmured._

_"He's bugging me to try bondage again," Prowl sighed. Sentinel had been on that obsession for an entire stellar cycle, but so far he hadn't given in._

_Jazz slapped his own helm in obvious exasperation. "Slag, that mech never gets a clue, does he?" He canted his head to the side. "Ya still thinkin' about dumpin' him?"_

_Prowl nodded and stared out the window. Kaon's miniature rip off of the Praxian Crystal Gardens were below them at the bottom of the steeply sloping street. Spotlights were aimed at them to maximum effect, generating a soft lavender and rose glow that lit several city blocks. His optics seemed to lock on the taller crystals jutting into the air. "You're the first close friend I've managed to make in a long time. We talk about things I'm interested in, things we _share_ an interest in. I can relax around you, be myself, enjoy a conversation . . . all things I'd lost. His total intolerance of you is more than I can take." He glanced back at Jazz. "It's the last bolt ripped out of the rusted drone. I'm done with this."_

_"Good. I was afraid ya might rethink it and back out." Jazz reached across the table and gave him a quick squeeze to the shoulder._

_Prowl paused as the waiter delivered his order. "I admit I'm mired in this relationship. I change my mind a dozen times an orn, but I always end up back in the same place: wanting to end this."_

_Jazz leaned forward in his chair. "What's bangin' around in yer processor now?"_

_"Several things, on and off." Prowl took a sip of his energon, letting its warmth infuse him. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but he'd ended up complaining about Sentinel to Jazz. He remembered the first time clearly enough – Jazz had asked him why he was so upset one orn, and he'd actually told him the truth – but then somehow that had opened the proverbial floodgates. Suddenly he'd found he'd told Jazz most everything, and Jazz had asked him some probing questions and made some illuminating comments that had forced him to rethink his relationship with Sentinel._

_"Well, I've been talkin' to my mechs. Makin' a plan and all." Jazz grinned._

_Prowl felt the strangest pulse of excitement, almost as though he could see light beyond a frosted-glass door, smell clean air as it raced over his chassis, or taste this freedom of not having to appease someone else's constant demands. "I know it can't be easy, especially with my being SIC. I'm not sure how I'll ever make it up to you."_

_Jazz shrugged. "Always be my friend."_

_"Done." Prowl smiled, an action that had become foreign to him._

_"Ya dodged my question, though." Jazz leaned back again. "That's okay. If yer not comfortable talkin' about it, then don't. Just know I don't mind bein' yer soundin' board."_

_Jazz was always wonderfully understanding and never pushy. In this case, however, Prowl hadn't intended to dodge. "Well, I've just been thinking . . . he says he'll kill himself if I leave him."_

_Jazz shook his head. "Even if he does, it's not yer fault. The only person's _fault_ it ever can be is the one who kills himself. Yer not puttin' a gun in his hand. Yer not pullin' the trigger. He is the one who will decide to die rather than fight."_

_"But —" Prowl very much wanted to agree with everything Jazz said, but in the longest joors of the night, when he was safely alone in his own quarters, his processor wouldn't stop whirling._

_"But nothin'." Jazz frowned. "It's his choice to die. Not yers. Ya can't make him kill himself. Ya can't make him do _anythin'_."_

_That was true enough. "But the Matrix? He is Prime, after all."_

_"The Matrix will pass on to someone else, like it always has." Jazz leaned forward and patted his arm. "I will smuggle ya out of here. I'll get ya somewhere safe. This part is yer decision: in an emotional sense, live or die? As it is, yer committin' passive suicide. It's always been about _him._ Now it's about _you._" He growled, clearly enraged. "No 'bot ever is created to die supportin' the mental illness of another. There is nothin' right or honorable or lovin' about killin' off yer soul by lettin' him boss ya around, run off yer friends, nag ya about 'facing, and howler when ya don't do everythin' his way."_

_Nothing right, honorable, or loving . . . Prowl's optic ridge furrowed. "But I thought all this time I was helping him heal —"_

_"He ain't ever gonna heal. Ya told me yerself that he only goes to therapy long enough to shut ya up, then he gets mad at the shrink and quits." Jazz shook his head. "He don't wanna be healed."_

_Prowl couldn't argue with that, but he wanted Jazz to defeat any and every counterargument he could make. He needed assurance that taking care of himself first was actually right. " —and that if I loved him I'd stand by him and support him and not give up on him— "_

_"Love has to go both ways, or it ain't love." Jazz thumped his fist on the table. "Does he care about _yer_ need to have friends? Does he care when _yer_ not up for 'facing? Does he care that it hurts ya that he don't trust ya? Does he listen to ya when he hurts ya and ya get upset, or does he get mad at ya for bein' angry or sad, yell at ya, or offer nonstop excuses?"_

_Prowl couldn't even meet Jazz's gaze anymore. Faced with Jazz's logic, Prowl couldn't deny how twisted his relationship with Sentinel really was._

_Jazz snorted. "Let me guess. If ya get upset enough and really lose it, he promises he'll work on it or brings ya expensive energon confections the next orn."_

_"He doesn't even do that anymore," Prowl whispered. "He just says I'm hopeless and walks away."_

_Jazz took his hand and squeezed it gently. "Prowler, do ya even feel anythin' anymore other than pain and fear?"_

_Prowl smirked, utterly mirthless. "I don't feel _anything._ Nothing at all." Not love, not anger, not pain, not sadness. The universe was grey, flat, a wide expanse of colorless nothingness. Meaningless. Even sounds seemed to be in mono, always tinny and yet too loud or too quiet. The only thing Prowl could even bring himself to do anymore was try to lessen Sentinel's incessant nagging._

_"I'll use all my considerable resources, and trust me when I say I didn't get this gig based on my charm." Jazz flashed him a smile. "To Sentinel's optics and everyone else's you'll just disappear. Ya should be able to work yer way back into the Enforcers, but you'll have to lay low for a few vorns first and work yer way up from the bottom under a new designation and paint job. But it's yer call."_

_Prowl nodded, having decided he was willing to sacrifice _anything_ to reach that elusive freedom. To vanish for joors, even orns, and just drive with the wind caressing his chassis and not have to answer to anyone's suffocating or jealous demands. "Do it. I . . . just can't live like this anymore."_

_"Thadda mech! Hang in there. I'll let ya know as soon as I have it all lined up." Jazz squeezed his hand one more time and then stood and slipped out of the café._

_With Jazz's solemn oaths held close to his spark, Prowl stood and made his way back to base and his quarters. A joor later, he wasn't surprised to hear someone punching in his door code and entering. Sentinel stormed into the room, glowering at him._

_"Roadstar saw you with Jazz this afternoon. Apparently you talked for a really long time." He crossed his arms. "Not even trying to hide it anymore, huh?"_

_Prowl had heard it all so many times he couldn't rouse enough energy to answer back._

_"Why _are_ you always talking to Jazz so much?" Sentinel asked, suddenly throwing his arms wide. "What is it that you see in him?"_

Sanity,_ Prowl thought tiredly._

_Sentinel clenched his fists at his side, his expression twisted between pain and anger. "Primus! You really are going to leave me for him, aren't you?"_

_"No," Prowl answered truthfully, his voice steeped with exhaustion, knowing Sentinel would never believe him. Never trust him. Couldn't he just have one friend? Just one?_

_Maybe, in the end, it wasn't really about trust at all. Maybe all of it was about control._

_Sentinel was shaking his head in something like desperate denial. "No. No, no, no, no. This can't be happening." He opened his spark chamber and reached inside, digging his fingertips into the glowing ball and grimacing. "I can't watch this happen again, Prowl. I'd rather kill myself than lose you, too."_

You lost me a long time ago. You drove me off all by yourself._ Prowl stared at him, suffering an errant thought that it would be so much easier if Sentinel did die. But, no. He was going to have to extract himself from this mess, and he would. With Jazz's help. "I can't convince you to trust that I won't cheat on you. I can't make you believe that." He sighed heavily out his vents. "I have never once cheated on you. Never even considered it. But if you don't trust that by now, there's nothing I can do."_

_Prowl hadn't meant to use one of Sentinel's typical attacks of 'I can't convince you to trust me' against him. He'd simply been speaking the truth. But when Sentinel dropped his hand and paused in apparent shock, Prowl realized the irony of his words._

_"I know," Sentinel said, closing his spark chamber. "I just . . . I just don't see why you're so much more excited to talk to him than to me. It makes me think that you're tired of me. That you don't love me anymore."_

_Prowl stared at him, knowing that any love he'd felt had been suffocated long since. Still, until Jazz could extract him, he had to keep up a good front. "No, that's not it at all." He didn't like having to lie his way through the last decaorn or however long it took Jazz to secure his passage off world._

_Then again, he couldn't bring himself to care too much. He still couldn't feel much of anything._

I guess I, too, am now loveless,_ he thought. _All that I ever felt is dead.

-o-

Forcibly pulling himself out of his memories, Prowl let his stare fall upon the large crack adorning the left corner of his cabin ceiling. In retrospect, he knew his utter apathy and decision to just play along until Jazz said all was ready was the reason he'd 'faced Sentinel twice more. It had seemed easier to give in rather than deal with the nagging or get in a fight. Unfortunately, giving in on the bondage as well had generated consequences Prowl couldn't have foreseen. It had taken vorns of therapy for him to accept that when he'd said 'yes' to the bondage he had _not_ said 'yes' to sexual violence or rape. He'd blamed himself for a long time, saying he should have known better until he finally realized and accepted that 1.) he couldn't have known how it would turn out; and 2.) whether he could have known or not, _nothing_ could excuse rape. Nothing.

Since then, though, Prowl had avoided the whole mess by simply not dating and not 'facing. It kept him safe. Kept things simple, uncomplicated, and not stressful.

But the question was whether such a stance was the best option for him now.

Prowl considered the way Optimus had held him close, caressing him and pressing kisses to his face. So gentle and loving. And when Prowl had expressed discomfort, Prime had stopped immediately.

Maybe, just maybe, there was hope for a real relationship here. Something not abusive.

oOoOo

Two joors after his shift officially ended, Prowl finally signed off on the report concerning the 'Cons' damage to Portland. Optimus and he had detailed several teams to help with the cleanup, and they had spent the morning working at Union Station with Hoist and Grapple's team. Wheeljack and Ironhide's team had headed up the work at Civic Stadium, and when Prowl had checked on them before returning to the _Ark,_ he'd found Perceptor, Ratchet, and Wheeljack discussing building a new set of mechs for the purpose of helping and protecting humans.

"Make 'em smarter than the Dinobots!" Ironhide had exclaimed as Prowl drove up.

Prowl had listened to their ideas with some intrigue, and Ratchet had even suggested calling them the Protectobots.

"Primus knows we need something like that," Ratchet had grumbled. "Everything the 'Cons do endangers human lives and destroys human property."

As a result of the conversation, Prowl had spent all orn with his thoughts jumping between rebuilding Portland, creating rescue 'bots, and dating Optimus.

"I'm hopeless," he muttered, shaking his head over his own lack of professionalism. He pulled out a blank datapad and began recording the idea, or rather pseudo-request, for the new mechs. There were many factors to consider: who would act as their guardians, and how would they spark them? Wheeljack would have to design the Protectobots, but he was over-extended taking care of the Dinobots, who he'd accepted responsibility for even though they'd all helped build them. Optimus had used the Matrix to infuse the Dinobots, but it would have to recharge, so to speak, for a solid stellar cycle before he could use its creative function again. Most 'bots – unless they were the result of spark merges – were infused by Vector Sigma, and using Vector Sigma meant returning to Cybertron. That would mean putting together a team, recalling Omega Supreme to Earth, locating Alpha Trion . . .

A buzz sounded at his door, jerking Prowl out of his thoughts and pseudo-planning. "Enter," he called, hitting the button to trigger the door.

Optimus stepped into the room and visibly relaxed, as though the mere sight of Prowl had reduced his stress. Prowl repressed a smile, touched that he could have such an effect on the mech he'd secretly grown to love.

"Enough for one orn, Prowl," Optimus murmured as he walked over to the desk.

Prowl gazed up at him, realizing with some warmth that Prime was concerned for his well-being and was looking after him. "Very well, sir." He set the datapad aside, logged himself off-shift, and stood. "How may I help you?"

"I'd like to take you on our first official date tomorrow evening," Optimus said, retracting his battle mask so Prowl could see his smile. "I was wondering if you had any requests."

Prowl's felt his body grow abruptly stiff, his doorwings hiking upward on his back. "Oh. I see." As much as he'd been thinking about the issue, he couldn't help the rush of sudden anxiety that came with knowing he was actually going to try dating again. It had all been just so terribly _wrong_ before. His gaze fell to his desktop. "Well, I'm not sure I have any preferences. I'm not sure what would even qualify as a date on Earth."

"I can do some research to that effect if you'd like to try local customs." A look of concern washed over Prime's face. "Unless there is something from Cybertronian culture you wish to uphold here?"

Prowl smirked, thinking of just what kind of culture he'd come from. "Not really. Praxus was still practicing arranged sparkbonds when I left. For a generated sparkling, the genitors chose a partner, and dates were often meals with the family." He finally lifted his gaze, but his processor was on those early, awkward dates that felt more like business arrangements. "For infused sparklings, the creator or creators would hire a matchmaker, who would collect resumes and make suggestions. First dates were usually at the Crystal Gardens." A humorless laugh escaped his lips. "Maybe I shouldn't have resisted the process so much, considering what happened to me later." _Anything would have been better than Sentinel, even a blasted business arrangement._

A frown bent down Prime's lips, and his optics dimmed. Knowing Optimus had been sparked in Iacon, where mechs found their mates on their own in an idealized, romantic, almost mystical way, Prowl could only imagine how cold Prime must find his descriptions.

Optimus' voice was soft when he spoke. "Were you generated from a spark merge or infused by Vector Sigma or the Creation Matrix?"

"Infused." Prowl snorted. "I rejected every suitor the matchmaker suggested. I didn't feel like my creators cared about my happiness, only their social standing." He couldn't help the bitterness seeping into his tone. The memories were old –so old he had no trouble discussing them and had assumed he felt nothing about them anymore. But all he had to do was speak, and he remembered how seemingly distant his creators had been, like caring for him was a business situation they had to handle well. "The matchmaker certainly didn't care if I were happy. And if my creators' relationship, or lack thereof, was any indication, the whole arranged sparkbond concept was doomed to fail." Indeed, they had seemed to see each other as business partners instead of lovers.

The furrowed brow marring Optimus' face suggested grief. "I'm sorry, Prowl. That isn't an experience anyone should have to have. Finding love should be the same thing as finding happiness, no matter how it's done." He walked around the desk and held out his hands. "So if you rejected the matchmaker and his attempts, what happened?"

Prowl accepted the outstretched hands and received a comforting squeeze from Prime. "Well, when I rejected all the mechs, they thought maybe I might be interested in the more curved bodies of the femmes. But shape and ornamentation were never the issue. Why would I care about the arbitrary designs that had been introduced into our species?" He paused, vaguely sickened by the memory of what had occurred next. If only he could have known the size of the mistake he was making. "Finally, I applied for and received a transfer out of Praxus to Kaon, and . . . I ended up dating Sentinel Prime."

Optimus grew very still, his optics dimming again. This was the part Prowl hated to tell, although not because he minded talking about it. No, he hated it because no one wanted to hear that Sentinel Prime had been anything other than a wonderful war hero. Prowl would tell the story or parts of it to trusted friends because he'd never had trouble bluntly relating facts, even facts like these, as long as it was kept between friends. But mostly he'd chosen not to, having realized early on others would give him grief over implying, or rather revealing, that the Great and Wonderful Sentinel Prime was actually a jerk.

Still, after a pause, Optimus just gave his hands another comforting squeeze. "Was Sentinel the insensitive aft you mentioned the night we interfaced?"

Prowl stared at Prime's grille. "Yes. My so-called relationship with him was a disaster. I was comparatively young when I met him and mostly inexperienced. Maybe that is why I didn't recognize the warning signs." _Or maybe it was my own creators' cold relationship, which meant I didn't have anything deep or strong to judge it by,_ he thought. The theories he'd constructed about his mistakes were numerous: his lack of self-esteem in the personal interaction category played a role, he suspected, and he was blinded by Sentinel's seeming perfection at first.

"And you haven't dated since." It was a statement of fact.

"No, not even once." A chill swept through Prowl's circuits. Would Optimus reject his story? Cling to the image of Sentinel as a great war hero and infallible champion of the Autobots? He knew Optimus had been reformatted from Orion Pax only very shortly before Sentinel had been killed – an upgraded mech for a new age of turmoil and war. But even still, Optimus would have been immediately surrounded by all the tales of his predecessor.

Optimus shook his head. "I'm truly sorry for what you obviously suffered." He pulled Prowl into his arms, hugging him close. "Is this why you've stayed out of relationships?"

Prowl let himself be held, shocked by the acceptance and the show of faith and trust it entailed. Prime's chest was warm, strong. "Yes. It left me with deep reservations." Indeed, in his experience, relationships brought nothing but problems: fights over personal space and fights over allocation of time. Fights over how to spend credits, whether to have outside friendships, who would run the household, and when or how to 'face. He pressed his fingers to his temple, his processor overheating. "There's just so much slag. Take interfacing alone: one's in the mood, the other not. Or one's exhausted, the other not. One wants to try things the other isn't comfortable with. Then there's the whole keeping tabs on sexual favors part: 'It's my turn, not yours' or 'you owe me one.'"

Prime's engine revved with a growl. "He was _keeping tabs_ on who had done what for each other? That makes you sound like a pleasure drone!" He sighed out his vents, stroking Prowl's back with one hand. "That's ridiculous! When you love someone, you don't keep tabs. You're not doing them sexual favors; you're pleasing them because you want to see them happy."

Prowl frowned. The concept seemed so obvious, so simple, and yet he felt much like he were a prehistoric 'bot being suddenly introduced to quantum physics. "I think sometimes I must know absolutely nothing about love."

"I think you very well may not, to some extent." Optimus pressed a kiss to the top of his helm. "Or rather I'm beginning to wonder if anyone has treated you with love."

After a moment's hesitation, Prowl rested his head on Prime's chest. The truth contained in that statement made him feel suddenly tired. "I honestly doubt it." He relaxed slowly into Prime's arms, marveling at their warmth and strength, a gentle yet powerful care. Prime was being so supportive, but still one question bothered him. "Are you sure you wish to go through this? I'm terribly messed up and confused. It will no doubt be very stressful for you, and you are under enough stress already."

"I would agree that you are confused, but I wouldn't say you're messed up." Prime hugged him close, running a hand up his back and massaging between his doorwings. "Do you want to straighten out your confusion?"

Prowl paused, feeling the tension draining from him at the comforting touches. "For the longest time I believed all my views were the only reality to be had and was content with my rage." He lifted one hand and pressed it gently against Prime's chassis, willing himself to take a chance on the kind spark he knew resided there. "But now I wish to be rid of the bitterness. I'm willing to work through this."

Optimus grasped Prowl's chin and tilted up his face until their gazes met. "That is all I need to know, then. If you were unwilling to move forward, this would be hopeless. But you want to heal, and I will wait for as long as it takes for you to feel comfortable again. I won't run away. Not if you won't." He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Prowl's lips.

Patience. Kindness. Understanding. All things Prowl had never expected to receive from a lover. A smile bent up the corner of his mouth. "All right, then. In that case, for our first date, just surprise me." He leaned up, pressing their lips together again.

Prime captured his lower lip, sucking on it before slipping his glossa into Prowl's mouth. Prowl caressed Prime's glossa in return, and Prime's quiet moan sent a shiver through his circuits. Optimus ran his hand down Prowl's canopy, massaging his back, then stroked one doorwing. Prowl gasped as tingling shot through his systems, breaking their kiss momentarily, and ran his arms around Optimus' neck. Their bodies pressed together, armor growing warm, and Prowl suddenly recalled the memory of Prime's gentle hands caressing him, dedicated to bringing him pleasure. His engine growled at the thought, and he kissed Prime more passionately.

Perhaps Jazz had been right. Maybe it wouldn't be like before.

* * *

_Postscript: Thank you do much to the following for such lovely reviews: Kaede Akira, BitterSweetDrug, Carmilla DeWinter, OrianPrime92, the pheonixqueen, Sear, Yami-Yugi3, Optimus Bob, SkyTarget, Carlough, Sslaxx, and Cascadia-science._


	6. Revealing the Past

_A/N: I apologize for being a day late. "Real" life got in the way, a.k.a., work. I will always aim to post on Monday, but slag happens._

_Credit for outboxes being named 'Conquered' and inboxes being named 'Challenges' goes to Asher119._

_1 joor=1.2 hours  
1 orn=1 day_

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_**Chapter 6: Revealing the Past **_

With a small smile, Jazz settled on the corner of Optimus Prime's massive, steel desk and glanced around the tidy office with its pristine storage cabinets and orderly shelves. The mass of datapads detailing the Portland incident were all neatly stacked in Prime's outbox, which he'd relabeled his 'Conquered' box. Also, his Teletraan terminal showed search results for the most beautiful locations in the northwestern U.S., meaning Prime had worked so quickly and efficiently he was now indulging in something personal.

Jazz figured the explanation was obvious. "So, where have ya decided to take Prowler for yer first date?"

Optimus glanced up at his visitor and laughed. "I'm that obvious, am I?" He shook his head in apparent amusement. "I'm taking him on our first official date this evening, although I'm having trouble deciding where to go." He gestured at the search results.

"The romantic vista-type date, huh?" Jazz grinned. _And the score is – Meddler: 1. Oblivious Bots: O._ "Don't fry yer processor over it. Prowl is more concerned with yer motivations. Ya could take him to a junkyard, but if ya did it with the intention of makin' him feel loved and happy, he wouldn't mind." He stopped to consider the way he'd talked Prowl out of prematurely ending the budding relationship. _Make that Meddler: 2. Oblivious Bots: 0._

Prime snorted. "I can do better than a junkyard. But what do you think he'd most enjoy: Watching the sun go down over the ocean and sipping high-grade on the beach, or attending a symphony and then sitting out under the stars?" He narrowed his optics at the computer screen as though daring it to give him a better option.

Jazz had to chuckle. "I vote for the symphony. He enjoys the complexities of classical music, and he might need the time to adjust to datin' again."

"Time to adjust?" Optimus glanced back at him. "He mentioned something disturbing about Sentinel last night, and I got the idea that entire relationship was . . . bad, to say the least."

_And here comes the ugly part._ Jazz sighed. "Yeah, I'll say. Look, man. I care about ya both. I consider ya two my best friends, and that's why I'm gonna tell ya this."

Optimus sat up a touch straighter, stiffer. "Tell me what?"

"Sentinel abused Prowl." Jazz frowned, unconsciously clenching his fists. Five million stellar cycles had passed – nine million if he counted their time in stasis – and he still hadn't forgiven Sentinel for everything he'd done to Prowl. If Megatron hadn't beaten him to it, Jazz would have _killed_ the fragger for raping Prowl. "He's had the chance to date since Sentinel died. For awhile there, I was interested, myself. But he's so badly burned he hasn't let anyone get close to him that way. Until now."

A soft growl emanated from Prime's engine as his optics narrowed. "Abused _how_?"

"Name it." Jazz bit his lip, unsure how much to say. He wanted to help Prime succeed, but he also didn't want to violate Prowl's trust. "Sentinel manipulated him somethin' terrible. Said slag like he'd kill himself if Prowl ever left him. He was suffocatin,' so bad that he got jealous of everyone Prowl spoke to and I ended up bein' the only friend Prowl had left." He definitely would leave it up to Prowl to talk about the rape.

Prime stood rather abruptly and began pacing his office. "Sentinel sounds possessive, insecure, and petty. Actually it all sounds _sick_." His engine growled again. "I admit I'm a bit shocked. Sentinel has always been praised as a brilliant leader by everyone I've met." He shook his head. "Just goes to show that who someone is on duty doesn't always reflect who they are in private." He glanced back at Jazz. "What else?"

Jazz watched his leader's tense movements and decided Sentinel better be glad he was already dead. "Sentinel's responsible for Prowl's glitch."

"_What?_" Prime halted in his tracks. "Explain."

Jazz rubbed his temple where his visor connected to his helm, his own anger making several circuits run too hot. "Like I said, Sentinel manipulated him all the time. Made him think everythin' was always his fault. Made him feel guilty for bein' angry over the abuse. There at the end, it caused his logic circuits to have a critical error. A few chips fried. Some rewirin' and replacin' had to be done, and the CMO at the time – do you remember Rivet? – decided to make sure the error didn't happen again. So he wired it up different, and Prowl's logic circuits have crashed under pressure ever since."

The glare Prime directed at the far wall was so severe Jazz wondered if two black burn marks might appear. He clenched and unclenched his fists several times, stopping to flex his fingers twice.

"I ain't gonna lie to ya," Jazz said quietly. "Ya got yer work cut out for ya. Prowl will probably freak out several times and try to run away from ya. He might act funny at first or have a breakdown in the middle of what seems like a totally innocent conversation. If ya really love him and really want him, yer gonna have to be understandin' and patient."

For a long moment, Prime didn't move or speak. "I understand. I can do that." He sounded utterly grim and rather much like he wanted to kill someone.

Jazz nodded and hopped off the desk. "Good. 'Cause if ya think yer not up for this – which is fine if yer not – but if yer not, ya need to call it off now. Prowl very much needs someone to love and respect him. He deserves it, too."

Optimus squared his shoulders and met his gaze. "That's what I intend to do."

"Good. It's why I wanted ya to know the score." Jazz headed to the door, hoping Prime's love would help ease the wounds of Prowl's past.

oOoOo

From up behind the 'nosebleed' section, as Sparkplug had once dubbed it, Prowl gazed across the expanse of the Hollywood Bowl. The numerous tiers of seating sloped gracefully downhill, and thick green trees hedged the sides of the outdoor amphitheater. The sunset faded overhead, casting the stage in a crimson glow. Prowl listened to the orchestra warming up and relaxed, feeling pleased that Skyfire had been happy to bring Prime and him to L.A. despite the nonofficial reason.

He glanced up at his companion, noting the way Optimus seemed to tower over the entire venue, and smiled to himself. Despite his lingering reservations, being taken out on a date by this beloved mech made little electric surges snap through his circuits. "The Los Angeles Philharmonic, huh?" He was touched by Prime's consideration of his musical tastes. "May I ask what they'll be performing tonight?"

Prime retracted his battle mask and grinned. "Holst's _The Planets._"

Prowl wanted to hug him, but public displays of affection were not his style. The small curve hovering on his lips bloomed into a full-blown smile. "Excellent." _The Planets_ was one of his favorite Earth orchestral suites, with his loving everything from the bold, militant brass of "Mars" to the haunting women's chorus of "Neptune."

"I had hoped you'd be pleased." Prime gestured to their spot on the left-hand side of the seating behind the last row. "Shall we settle in?"

Prowl considered the humans twisted around in their seats gawking at them. "Indeed." Anywhere they went, they always drew attention, which made Prowl uncomfortable. Most humans had been slow to accept an alien species on their planet, especially since one-half of said species was constantly trying to kill or destroy them. Sometimes humans reacted in terror no matter which faction they saw, while other times they clung to the Autobots as their saviors. Prime and Prowl had worked hard to court the American military and government, Japanese scientists and electronic engineers, and academics the world over. Fortunately, the brilliant Dr. Fujiyama and President Reagan had become outspoken proponents for the Autobots.

It didn't make situations like this any less awkward for Prowl, who hoped the pointing and whispering humans were simply surprised. Although for Prowl, even surprise was attention he didn't desire.

"It's okay, Prowl," Optimus whispered, sitting beside him and gently pressing his hand to his lower back. "In my recent teleconferences with Mayor Bradley, I was told that polls conducted in L.A. show support and acceptance of the Autobots. He really thought we'd be fine here, whether visiting or helping defend their power plants."

As the humans finally turned their attention to the stage, Prowl nodded, unconsciously leaning into Prime's side. He focused entirely on positive things: the warmth of Prime's armor, the light evening breeze, the murmuring of the crowd, and the sounds of instruments –piccolos, oboes, trombones, violins – warming up with random bits of scales and music. The stage glowed softly, and he could smell the musk of evergreens nearby. Optimus stroked his back softly, and when the conductor, André Previn, took the stage and Prime was apparently sure they had privacy, he wrapped his arm around Prowl's waist, holding him close.

For the next three-fourths joor, Prowl was equally enraptured by the dynamic music and Prime's random kisses to his helm. At Prime's urging, they slipped away as the applause erupted at the end, leaving before the humans in order to avoid distracting the crowd. They climbed the wooded hills and knobs around the Bowl until they found a private clearing that shielded them on all sides but still afforded them a view of the sky. Because of L.A.'s bright lights, the stars weren't as clear as they were at the _Ark._ But when Prime tugged him to sit on the ground and pulled him into his arms, Prowl couldn't seem to mind.

Prime had left his battle mask retracted, revealing his loving smile, and Prowl gazed at him in the glow of the night, struck by the blue sheen complementing his grey face. The leaves of the nearby trees whispered in the breeze, creating music of their own, and the warm air rushed over Prowl's plating. Struck by the enchanted moment, he reached up and ran his fingertips over Prime's cheeks, nose, and lips. Prime captured his hand and pressed a kiss to his fingers, making Prowl chuckle.

"Thank you," Prowl said. "The concert was lovely."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." Optimus cupped his cheek and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "It's important to me that you enjoy what we do."

Prowl could remember a time in which Sentinel had been this charming and attentive, and for a moment he wondered how long this would last before the _real_ mask came off. However, he was also well aware that he'd begun dating Sentinel shortly after meeting him and therefore before he knew him. He had known and been friends with Optimus for millions of stellar cycles. He'd watched Optimus be this attentive to Elita, and that knowledge allowed him to accept and relax into the moment. There was indeed a trust Prowl had for Optimus that granted him the ability to hold back his fears and take a chance. "I suppose I should take you on a surprise date of your own at some point," he said, smiling.

"Anytime you like." Prime grinned, then leaned back slowly, pulling Prowl with him until they were lying on the ground, staring up at the stars.

Prowl rested his head on Prime's chest and wrapped one arm around his waist while Prime ran one arm behind his back, hugging him close. If he could be said to have any preferences, then Prowl preferred tall, broad-shouldered mechs. He liked curling into their sides, resting on their chests, and being engulfed in their hugs, and the more responsibilities had been piled on his shoulders, the more he liked it. Something about it was inviting and relaxing, although he hardly considered it a prerequisite. In his mind, or rather in his experience, the most important things about a mech were his beliefs and personality. To Prowl, respect and personal compatibility mattered above all.

After a quiet moment of enjoying each other's company, Prime pressed a kiss to Prowl's helm. "You're beautiful," he murmured.

Prowl chuckled. "You are such an incurable romantic." And, of course, he was. Prime was an idealist, someone who saw the best in everyone, planned for the best everything, and inspired others to work to achieve the best. Even though he was also a realist on the battlefield, Optimus was in every area of his life the ultimate romantic.

"Indeed I am." Prime laughed. "But it doesn't seem to bother you. Besides, I hardly just meant that you are only beautiful on the outside. For me, your beauty is shown just as much in the way you care quietly for others, always do your best, and fight to protect your mechs."

Prowl propped himself up on one elbow and smiled at Optimus. "Of course it doesn't bother me. I admire that about you, even if I can't be that way myself. Likely I value it more _because_ I'm not idealistic." He paused, genuinely flummoxed by the sincere compliments. "And . . . thank you." It was so, so odd being valued for who he was. He spent so much time listening to others complain that he was too boring or too strict or too stoic or too logical that it seemed impossible that someone could like him exactly as he was. It had always seemed to him that he'd never be good enough.

"Why the pause?" Prime reached up and stroked one finger over Prowl's cheek. "Not used to others pointing out your good qualities beyond 'he's efficient and organized,' are you?" He grinned. "In that case, I'll compliment you repeatedly until you feel comfortable with it."

"Incurable romantic!" Flustered but amused, Prowl leaned down and pressed his lips to Prime's.

"Without fail." Prime tugged him closer, and reading his intentions, Prowl leaned down once more, kissing him. Prime's lips were surprisingly soft, perhaps because they were always protected, and Prowl mouthed them, then sucked on the lower one. Prime's engine revved in a quiet purr, and as though that were a cue, they deepened the kiss, caressing each other's glossa. Prowl's hand wandered to Optimus' grille, tracing the slats and making him shiver, and Prime stroked one of Prowl's doorwings, drawing a moan from him.

Their armor grew quickly heated, and Prowl lost himself in the warmth of the mech under him, for once undisturbed by the demons in his past.

oOoOo

Prowl had barely awakened from recharge when his door chime buzzed. Barring an emergency, there was only one mech brave enough to bother him so early in the morning: Jazz. And said mech was no doubt here to find out how his date went. Chuckling to himself, Prowl forced himself to his feet and answered his door.

"So, how was your date?" Jazz asked as soon as the door opened. He held up an energon cube, having come armed with breakfast.

Prowl smirked and accepted the cube, gesturing toward his small sitting area. "It went quite well, thank you."

Jazz plopped himself into a chair and grinned. "Excellent!" He took a gulp of his own cube. "Now give a mech some details."

Prowl shook his head and sat in the chair across from Jazz. "Fine, fine." He recounted his night as they drank breakfast, summarizing the rather long kissing spree with a simple, "Yes, we kissed."

Jazz laughed. "I just bet ya did." He paused, growing more serious. "Did ya lie awake worryin' about the future when ya got back?"

"Only a breem," Prowl said, having long ago resigned himself to how well Jazz had learned him. "I was stuck on an old hang-up of mine."

Jazz set aside his cube. "Can I help?"

"Perhaps." Prowl set aside his as well, but he hesitated, not wanting to burden Jazz with all his issues.

"Hit me." Jazz relaxed into his chair, the picture of a confident amateur psychologist. "I'm yer friend, remember?"

"Very well." Prowl braced himself. "How do you run a household?" He grimaced, hating the question and hating having to bother Jazz with it. "I mean, how do you and Mirage go about making decisions and splitting up daily grunge work? How do you avoid fighting about those kinds of things?"

Jazz pursed his lips. "Well, we figured that out before we bonded, then we renegotiated it once we saw how things were workin' in reality. But I started with askin' Mirage how his creators did things, then I told him how my genitors did it. Ya gotta know where a mech's template is formed, ya know? Start with what he's learned and what that means. In Mirage's case, all the grunge work was done by hired help, and one of his creators made all the decisions, which was somethin' Mirage always thought was unfair. In my case, my genitors shared everythin'. We talked about it."

"But talking isn't enough," Prowl pointed out, his cables taut with the sheer stress of the topic. "Sentinel promised me total equality. I never got it. It was one of the main reasons I never went through with bonding to him."

"That's tricky." Jazz nodded. "Ya have to watch how Prime's actin' now. If his creators were still alive, I'd say watch how he acts in their home and how he treats them. Mechs follow those deeply ingrained, learned patterns unless they choose to fight them every orn of their lives. Ya once said Sentinel expected his creators to wait on him, snapped at them if he didn't get his way, and left messes for them to clean up. It was a bad sign. Very bad sign." He grimaced. "But none of us now have livin' creators, so ya have to approach it as a question of love and trust. Does he take yer concerns seriously? Does he honor how much this issue matters to ya? Does he work at negotiation, or does he try to resolve it with quick platitudes to appease ya?"

Prowl knew he couldn't answer any of those questions yet. "I see."

"With Mirage and me, we had long talks about our short- and long-term goals before bondin'. We negotiated daily stuff." Jazz shrugged. "Mirage is a neat freak; I'm not. Mirage hates dirty chores; I don't. So Mirage keeps everythin' straight and tidy, and I do the dustin' and scrubbin'. I always get the energon at night, and he always takes the empty cubes back for recyclin'. For us, it's a fair trade, and we'll make temporary adjustments based on mood or injuries. We improvise at times, but in the end, we keep it even."

Prowl thought that sounded reasonable but wondered if he could be so lucky. "I always thought it was a bad sign that Sentinel didn't respect his own possessions, although I refused my impulse to clean or straighten Sentinel's quarters no matter how dirty and disgusting they became. It was hard to tolerate. I've seen war zones that looked better." His upper lip curled at the mere memory of the filth, and he abruptly stood and began pacing the room. "But if he came to mine instead, he was just as messy. Even if all he did was spend the night with me, he didn't care enough to recycle his cubes or take his datapads with him. I always had to clean my quarters after he left. I found it highly disrespectful. He never cared about how it made me feel or the work it cost me."

"I remember ya complainin' about that. And that _is_ disrespectful." Jazz stood and squeezed his shoulders. "Hey, yer right to be proactive here. But don't get too ahead of yerself. Prime and ya have only gone on one date."

Prowl nodded. "I know. But all of it was part of the abuse Sentinel handed me." He rubbed his temples as his processor heated up. "What about the decision making? You said Mirage came from a household where one creator made all the decisions. Sentinel tried to do that to me, too, mostly through manipulation. Inferno tends to make unilateral decisions for Red Alert and him, and the twins often irritate their lovers attempting something similar. It's a common theme."

Jazz had been shaking his head through the entire litany. "Inferno and the twins are young and stupid, followin' without thought or question the roles they've seen acted out in their own homes. Notice, though, that Blue and Smokey have set the twins straight on that count. Red better, too, or he needs to break it off with Inferno. Glitch or not, he can still think for himself." He tugged Prowl into the chair and then knelt beside him, taking his hands and squeezing them. "Listen, Prowl. No relationship can function in a healthy way if one mech is callin' all the shots. That either leads to huge fights or it means that the other mech is sufferin' in silence. I'll tell ya what I told Mirage on the matter: No matter how well ya think ya know a 'bot, if ya don't ask them what they want or need and instead just decide for them, yer gonna be wrong, and yer gonna cause problems. Or, if ya think it's yer right to run the show, yer so selfish and self-absorbed that yer bein' abusive. Love is the opposite of selfishness. Fortunately, Mirage agreed with that."

Prowl stared at the hands holding his. "In other words, if Prime does any of that, run like the Pit."

"Well, I'd say that depends on what he did and the context of it. But if he ain't listenin' to ya, run." Jazz squeezed his hands again. "Hey, look at me."

Prowl obliged, meeting the gaze of the optics barely visible through the visor.

"I don't think Prime's like that. If he is, ya know what to do. But I really think he's more fair and equal-minded than that."

Prowl considered all he knew of his leader and found himself sighing again. "You're probably right."

"Think of it like this." Jazz held up one finger. "If Prime considers himself yer protector or champion, the one to love ya and take care of ya, then he will love ya enough to consider yer needs and yer happiness _first._ Just like you'll love him and want to make sure he's happy. Repeat after me: love is the opposite of selfishness."

Prowl considered what seemed to be a rather revolutionary concept: true love would attend to his happiness and needs, not seek to force him to bend to another's will.

Jazz tugged on the other hand that he still held. "Say it."

Prowl's lips quirked in a smile. "Love is the opposite of selfishness."

"Good. Now this: when two 'bots love each other, they always strive to put the other's needs first."

"They seek to put each other's needs first."

Jazz clapped his hands together. "Good! Care to guess what that means?"

Growing more amused, Prowl shook his head. "What?"

"Consideration, respect, attentiveness, and compromise." Jazz stood and squeezed his shoulder. "A relationship, by its very definition, means two 'bots together. If it's always about one 'bot, whether it's because one is over-demandin' or the other is self-sacrificin', then it's no longer a relationship. A relationship cannot be made of one. It can't be just about one."

Prowl's processor tried to kick into high gear, taking the concept and teasing out its implications. "I always tend to self-sacrifice."

"I know." Jazz shifted and slipped into the chair across from him. "It was one of the reasons ya got bogged down in an abusive relationship. You fear hurtin' others – not in the social niceties sense but rather in the spark-deep sense. And ya secretly care so much ya put the other first even past the point of it bein' emotionally and mentally healthy. I don't think you'll do that now, though."

Prowl had stood and begun pacing again. "No, I'm too burnt and leery to let that happen now. I'm also angry: infuriated by the thought of being crushed under another's endless demands once more." It was a rage attached to fear, and a fear that still, at times, made him want to bolt preemptively. "I plan to tell Optimus what Sentinel did to me. I think he needs to understand it so he can understand me."

"I agree." Jazz leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "And I think he can handle it."

Pausing mid-stride, Prowl frowned. "Even the part about the rape? This _is_ Sentinel the Great and Wonderful Martyred Hero, after all." He withheld, for the moment, the fact Optimus had seemed to accept what he'd learned thus far.

Jazz nodded. "First of all, he never served with Sentinel and has no personal connection to him. Second of all, he trusts _you._ He would believe ya over the tales of the past."

A burn erupted in Prowl's spark in his desperate need to have the one he loved believe him and support him. Before he could stop himself, he reached up and pressed his hand to his chest. "I hope so."

Jazz hopped to his feet and walked over to grasp his upper arms. "Prowl, trust him. Take that chance. Either way, you'll know the answer." He squeezed his arms gently.

Steeling himself, Prowl gave him a single, sharp nod. "You're right."

oOoOo

"Easier said than done," Prowl muttered to himself as he glared at his office desk. He'd barely been able to concentrate on his work all orn. Drawing a deep draught of air through his intakes, he logged himself off duty and stood. He could do this. Really. Prime had been supportive thus far, after all. _Primus,_ he prayed, crossing the room. _Let him, of all mechs, believe me._ The door parted as he neared, and he halted abruptly as he came face-to-face with Prime.

"Oh!" Optimus jerked to a standstill as well. "I was just coming to check on you. Are you off duty now?"

Prowl reflected briefly that if he and Optimus did stay in a long-term relationship or bonded, they'd neither one ever skip meals or recharge ever again. They'd both make sure the other was well-taken-care-of. "I am. You?"

"Yes." Optimus held out his arm in invitation. "Would you like to share a quiet meal in my quarters?"

Prowl felt a smile break out over his lips in spite of himself. "Incorrigible romantic."

Prime laughed, and Prowl took the offered arm. Several 'bots passed them as they traversed the halls, giving them either wide-optic'ed looks or smiles, but they simply nodded to them. They had decided upfront not to hide their little affair. The 'Cons would learn of their altered relationship soon enough, and the crew might as well know what to expect if Megatron tried to manipulate them on that count.

Once Optimus keyed in the lock, he rather theatrically bowed Prowl into the room, and Prowl chuckled at the way they teased each other.

"I might as well do it with flourish," Prime said as he entered, opening his mask and revealing his grin.

"I truly don't mind," Prowl admitted. It felt nice to be treated as special, even though he had the stray thought that it wouldn't last. In his experience, being 'comfortable' with someone equaled being treated with insensitivity, and he could only hope it would be different this time.

Optimus opened his storage cabinet. "I have some vintage high grade here that survived our crash. Would you like some?" He held up a hand in defense. "One cube only, I promise."

Prowl had to snort with mirth. At least they could joke about it now. "Very well." He took a seat on the couch as Prime poured two small cubes of the deep indigo energon. Optimus did have chairs, but Prowl wanted to sit close.

When Prime turned around and saw Prowl sitting on the couch, and more toward the middle at that, he smiled. "I was hoping we'd get to do this." He crossed the room and settled by Prowl, handing him his cube. "I was looking forward to sharing dinner with you all orn."

Prowl accepted the cube, and when Prime put one arm around his shoulders, he leaned against his side. "Indeed?" He smiled to himself, caught somewhere between wondering if anyone could truly be so sweet and fearing it would end. "It is a relaxing way to end the orn." He stopped to consider his own words. What if being bonded meant unwinding together at the end of a shift? How did one accomplish such a thing? When Sentinel and he had come to each other's quarters in the evening, Sentinel would grope Prowl, and when he saw no 'facing was forthcoming, he would lose himself in a simulation game while Prowl read up on law or tactics.

Prowl frowned to himself and concluded a couple would have to make a conscious choice to spend time with each other – and not just to 'face, either.

"What's on your mind?" Prime asked, running his fingers over Prowl's cheek.

"Just thinking about how very different this is from the past." Prowl glanced up at him with a shy half-smile. "I'm not used to someone being so attentive to me." He was blunt and honest to a fault, he'd often been told.

Optimus leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "I hope to change that."

In response, Prowl curled further into his side and rested his head on his shoulder, letting himself be held close. They finished their cubes in peaceable silence, although Prowl began to grow nervous as he prepared to give Optimus another piece of the puzzle. Of the few mechs he'd told parts or the whole of his story, two had accused him of slander, raving that he was a liar trying to destroy Sentinel's legacy. He'd learned the hard way that many 'bots wanted to cling to their ideal memories, and he wasn't sure he could handle Optimus' not believing him. Any way he looked at it, revealing this part of his past was like an inadvertent test of Prime's sincerity, and he very much wanted Prime to pass.

"What's wrong?" Optimus took their empty cubes and set them on his end table. "Your engine just whined."

Prowl held in a shudder over being so obvious. "There's just . . . something I want to tell you. Something I think you should know because it impacts my view of relationships and the decisions I've made."

Optimus hugged him tighter to his side and then took his hand and squeezed it. "Don't tell me if you're not ready. There's no rush, and I don't want you to feel pressured."

"Thank you, but I'll never get any more ready." Collecting his nerve, Prowl stared at their hands entwined, blue and white. Part of him feared to tell, part of him regarded it as simple fact, and part of him wanted to tell so he could know whether Optimus would support him or not. "Sentinel raped me."

The bluntness and sharpness of the words hung between them.

For a moment, Optimus didn't move or speak. He simply squeezed his hand, so hard it actually hurt.

"It was right before he died. Our relationship had dragged to a pitiful end, really, and I was plotting to get free of him. Still, I couldn't break it off quite yet, and he was nagging me to 'face yet again, and —" Prowl spelled it out in detail, quickly consumed by the rage even after countless vorns' healing. The sheer evil and disgust of it still burnt his mouth like a metallic tang on his glossa, and despite knowing it wasn't and never could be his fault, his tactical mind still tried to determine what he could have done differently, done better, done to stop it . . .

Optimus released him suddenly, shocking him out of the part of the narrative where Jazz found him and rescued him, and stood abruptly. Prowl stared at him, struck through every line, node, and circuit with a bolt of pure panic. Would Optimus yell at him? Call him a liar? Charge him with slander? Prowl gripped the cushion edge, his spark already crying out at the unfairness and conversely shriveling in horror.

But Prime said nothing at all. He stomped the length of his quarters, spun sharply, then stomped back. His optics were little more than burning slits in his face, and he was baring his denta in a silent snarl. Prowl had _never_ seen him so angry.

Prime stopped at the far wall and planted his fist into the metal, which shrieked shrilly as it dented in. "That Primus-damned _fragger!_"

Prowl stared, having never seen such behavior from Prime before, and wasn't sure what to make of it.

"If Sentinel weren't dead already," Optimus said, whirling to face him, "I would kill him for having hurt you so."

Prowl felt his doorwings abruptly relax and nearly flop onto his back. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding them up so high and tensely.

Optimus resumed pacing, his engine growling and his heavy footsteps ringing against the deck plates. He opened his mouth several times, as though he would speak, but no words emerged. He seemed unsure what to say.

"I'm okay now," Prowl whispered, breaking the thick silence between them. "It's in the past." His relief was so extreme that he was barely aware of his own words.

Prime's engine revved sharply. "In the past? I wish I could _travel_ into the past and _rip_ that fragger's spark out of his chest." He thunked his fist against the wall as he reached the room's far end again.

"But we can't." Prowl realized that Optimus would be inconsolable on the matter, and having that load of fear and rage off his shoulders left him pleased but exhausted. He slumped, suddenly tired. "We can't change the past, and I fought for vorns to heal and put it behind me." There was no use in wishing it undone. There was more to him than this one event, and he was a survivor.

"I'm sorry." Optimus' look of anger bled into one of worry, and he rushed to him, kneeling. "I startled you, didn't I? Or I'm making this worse? I apologize. I hardly know what to say." He reached out a hand, then dropped it. "Primus! I nearly triggered that memory for you the night we interfaced." He cringed. "You were worried it would hurt, and . . ."

Prowl reached out and took Prime's hand, squeezing it. "It's okay. You can touch me." He smiled wryly. "I'm not suddenly breakable."

"Well, no." Optimus stared down at their hands, his brow furrowed. "Did I scare you that night?"

Scooting to the edge of the couch, Prowl took both Prime's hands and squeezed them. "No, you didn't. I was concerned, but I trusted you. And sure enough, you didn't hurt me at all. Our misunderstanding notwithstanding."

"I am still sorry for that." Optimus hesitated, then pulled Prowl into a hug and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'm sorry all around: I'm sorry that slagger did that to you, I'm sorry I can't kill him for you, I'm sorry you had to suffer such cruelty and violence. I hope I'm able to give you a wonderful future, something that can help balance out what you suffered. "

Unsure what to say, Prowl simply leaned into the hug. All that mattered in that moment was that Optimus had believed him. Not only that, he'd been angry on his behalf. He wrapped his arms around Prime's neck.

Optimus stood, still holding Prowl, and sat on the couch again, pulling him into his lap in the process. Optimus tucked his helm under his chin, hugged him close, and caressed his back, all the while whispering little apologies and soothing words. Prowl felt all his tension seep from his cables as he allowed Prime to comfort him.

"How do you feel about it now?" Optimus finally asked, pressing a kiss to the bridge of his nose.

Prowl roused himself from the warmth encompassing him and considered the question. "Sometimes I still get angry. I never wanted it to rule my life, though: not through anger, not through fear, and not through bitterness."

"Good. You deserve nothing but happiness." Prime tilted up his face and gently kissed his optic ridge, his cheek, then his lips. "You're strong. I know nothing can beat you. Nothing can wear you down. Your spark is forged steel, burned through adversity and made brilliant like gold."

Prowl didn't feel that special, but he did know he would never, ever give up or give in. "Thank you." He met the concerned and loving gaze Optimus graced him with and realized that he now had someone other than Jazz who would stand by his side, believe in him, and support him.

Maybe that was part of what love was.

* * *

_Postscript: I will never stop loving you guys for the wonderful encouragement and reviews. Thank you so much to the following: Optimus Bob, Sslaxx, Yami-Yugi3, pl2363, Dragon Queen88, Fragile Tension, OrianPrime92, 'HURRICANE'Hannah, Sear, Carmilla DeWinter, Kaede Akira, and BitterSweetDrug. Continued thanks, also, to my betas, pl2363 and Asher119._


	7. A Lover Loves

_A/N: Okay, I've managed to get caught up and hopefully back on schedule._

This chapter references "Prime Target."

For those who are curious, DeCordova was renamed the DeCordova Sculpture Park in 1989, which would be four years after this fic was set.

Joor=1.2 hours. Orn=roughly a day. Decaorn=ten days.

* * *

**_Chapter 7: A Lover Loves_**

Jazz bounced up to Prime's office door and hit the buzzer. An entire decaorn of relative peace had passed, save one Decepticon interruption, but he understood that made little difference as it concerned his commander. It was a joor after the official end of the shift, yet Jazz knew Optimus would still be there reading Prowl's latest tactical analysis, reviewing Hound's pending promotion, or perhaps digesting Ultra Magnus' transmission about the underground movement on Cybertron. On one hand, he hated to interrupt. On the other hand, he considered it part of his job to make sure Prime and Prowl didn't work themselves into the ground. Besides, all orn he'd been pondering Prowl's revelations about their second date, taken on the sly after a mission in the Caribbean, and decided Optimus might need his help.

"Enter." The door swooshed open.

Jazz stepped inside, his optics taking relief in the white walls. An oversized Autobot insignia had been painted on the back wall behind Optimus' desk. The whole affair was tradition for the Prime's office, and given the uniform orange-gold hue of the rest of the ship, a welcome change. "Workin' yerself silly, sir?" he asked lightly, noticing the empty Challenges box and the full Conquered box. The datapads waiting to be taken out were stacked in a leaning, precarious pile.

"Probably." Optimus turned to his Teletraan terminal, logging himself out. "I suppose I'd best stop for now." He glanced back to Jazz. "What can I do for you, my friend?"

"Let me meddle." Jazz gave him a disarming grin and hopped onto the edge of his desk. "Prowl said . . ." He paused, cringing, and realized this was not going to be as easy as he'd hoped. He could school himself to act cool in almost any situation, but this particular topic broke through his control. His voice dropped low. "He said he told ya about the rape." The final word came out as more of a growl. Even after millions of stellar cycles, Jazz still fantasized about all the different ways he could torture Sentinel for hurting Prowl. His favorite was attaching live wires to the slagger's prong.

Optimus grew extremely still, and an audible creaking sound filled the air as his cables tightened. "Yes."

Jazz felt a sympathetic burn in his tank at the sight of Optimus' rage. "He didn't say much else except that it made ya angry." Prowl had, in fact, said much more, including that Optimus seemed unwilling to touch him now, but Jazz decided to leave it at that and see what Optimus was willing to discuss.

"Angry?" Prime pushed to his feet, his chair skidding backwards. "I'd say 'furious' is a better description." He paced the length of his office, snapped around, and paced back.

Jazz watched, remembering that Prowl had said Optimus had paced when he'd told him. "That's only natural. If I had one wish, it would be for a time machine." He let the implications of that hang in the air between them, but he couldn't stop himself from clenching his hands on the desk's edge. "I know it had to be a horrible shock for ya to learn about."

"I had no idea what to say." Prime paced the deck plates with heavy footsteps. "I mean, what _do_ you say to something like that? Do you say 'I'm sorry'? It hardly seems enough! Do you offer comfort? How? What kind?" He growled, his powerful engine revving. "Mostly I want to beat Sentinel to death, but he's already dead. I feel helpless! I want to do something, but there's nothing to do."

"I was there, and I still couldn't do enough." Jazz shuddered, the memory of breaking into Sentinel's quarters and finding Prowl so hurt making his tank churn. It was an image that would never stop haunting him. "Well, there _is_ somethin' ya can do: take twice as good care of him now."

Prime nodded. "I can do that." He stopped by his desk, pressing his fists into the top and heaving a sigh out his vents. "I just . . ."

Jazz waited, hoping Prime would bring up all the necessary issues on his own. Sometimes the better part of meddling was seeing what others were willing to discuss with little or no prompting.

"I'm afraid now that I'll hurt him," Optimus murmured.

"Hurt him how?" Jazz asked, disturbed. "Physically? With interfacing?"

Prime shook his head. "Not specifically that, although yes. I'm very concerned now about how to approach our first interfacing."

"Technically, it'll be the second time," Jazz reminded him, forcing himself to relax and smile. He put one hand behind him on the desk and leaned back. "I asked him if ya harmed him in any way the first time, and he said no."

Optimus paused, glancing at him. "Ah . . . good." He straightened at those words. "I'm glad to hear that. Prowl has said much the same, but I feared he was sparing my feelings." He hesitated again, holding up his hands and turning them as though inspecting them. "In general, I suddenly find myself overly aware of what I'm doing with my hands. How I'm touching him. Wondering if I'm making him uncomfortable."

"This is _Prowl_ we're talkin' about." Jazz snorted. "If he's uncomfortable, he'll tell ya."

Prime returned to his desk chair, sinking into it with an air of defeat. "I guess you're right."

Jazz sat up straight and crossed his arms. "Don't be like that. What yer doin' now will only draw attention to the past. He's made the choice to move forward, so don't ya be the one to focus on somethin' he's healed up. He's the same mech now that ya took on that first date. Don't treat him any differently. If ya kissed him then, kiss him now. If ya held him then, hold him now."

"You seem so sure." Optimus watched him with open concern and curiosity.

"I was with him through the whole healin' process." Jazz frowned. "I'm not him, so I can never be one hundred percent sure, but I have some idea of what he wants. We've talked about it a lot, and I can tell ya he doesn't want to be treated like he's broken. He doesn't want 'bots tiptoein' around him on the subject."

Prime relaxed, slumping back into his chair. "I'll keep that in mind, then."

Jazz grinned. _Meddler: 3. Oblivious 'bots: 0._ Maybe Prime and Prowl would succeed in their relationship just yet.

oOoOo

Prowl glanced around DeCordova's sculpture garden and had to smile. For their fourth date, he'd stepped up and taken the reins, choosing the location, time, activities, and arranging the details and transport. He could only feel glad that Skyfire loved to fly so much, and conversely hated to be grounded, that he jumped at any request to take his fellow Autobots places. One human-approved flight plan and several joors later, Prowl and Optimus were now enjoying the DeCordova and Dana Museum and Park.

Optimus held out his hand to Prowl. "It's fascinating," he said, gesturing with his other hand to an abstract, black, metal sculpture as tall as he was. "I suspect the entire park will be gorgeous."

Prowl took Prime's hand gratefully, glad for the affectionate gesture. Optimus had touched him very little since the night he'd told him about the rape. "Several famous artists are displayed here." He glanced around the woods, noting the blanket of snow covering the grass and the pines and the stray, fat snowflakes drifting through the air. Fortunately, Prime and he were impervious to the cold at these comparatively mild temperatures, which meant they could enjoy the scene comfortably.

"It's always interesting to see the artwork of other cultures," Prime said as they wandered through the trees to the next sculpture, which looked much like an oversized mech's hand. "It says a great deal about the species and their beliefs and values, and it's often beautiful."

Prowl smiled, glad his bet had paid off. Optimus had always been an art connoisseur, so Prowl had hoped he'd like the park. He listened to Prime's commentary on the sculptures as they walked, but he was preoccupied with how well their dates were going, despite Prime's refusal to touch him. There had been a bit of a transition from friends to dating, an awkwardness that popped up in moments, but also a contrasting comfort or relaxation that made the dates themselves easier for Prowl.

Optimus released his mask as they went further into the trees and grinned at him. "Remind me to thank them for letting us in after hours."

"It was kind of them." Prowl had requested to tour the park right after its official closing so that they wouldn't disturb or distract the human patrons.

"And convenient, since I would like some privacy." Prime pulled him over to an embankment where they could sit sheltered under the trees above. "Would you like to sit and just watch the snow?" He eased down, careful not to plop down and shake the snow out of the tree limbs.

"Certainly." Prowl had a surge of hope that Prime might actually put his arm around him.

Prime gazed up at him and opened his arms. "Sit with me?"

Prowl didn't need to be asked twice. He had missed those strong arms holding him close. He smiled at Prime and walked over to sit down, but as soon as he got close enough, Prime swept him into an embrace, pulling him onto his lap. Prowl had to chuckle at that, but he hardly complained. He leaned his head against Prime's shoulder and relaxed. Optimus stroked his back in long caresses, tracing the contours of his canopy.

"Thank you for holding me again." Prowl put his hand on Prime's chest. "I promise it doesn't bother me. In fact, I missed it."

Optimus hugged him tightly. "I was just . . . concerned." He smiled. "You are free to touch me at any time, though."

"True." Prowl stared at his hand against Prime's red plating, an odd surge of inexplicable worry rushing through him at the thought of initiating touch. Still, surely he was safe with Prime. He pressed closer, rubbing their chasses together in the process.

And that's when Prowl felt it: a strange pulse from his spark, then a pleasant burning sensation right where their chests touched. He glanced down, but nothing physically was showing on the outside. He'd heard myths and romantic tales all his life about sparks calling to each other and sensing their mates. He never thought the nonsense was real, though.

Maybe it was just his imagination.

"Wonderful choice for a date," Prime murmured, brushing his lips over Prowl's helm. "Reminds me of an organic rendering of the now-lost Omeli Park in Iacon."

Prowl lifted his face and smiled. "Thank you. I'd hoped you would like it."

Prime transferred his kiss to Prowl's lips. "More important than that is just getting some quality time alone with you. No 'Cons, no work, no interruptions."

"Indeed." Prowl felt his smile widen and gloried in the happiness that made the smile possible. "I really don't care where we go just as long as we enjoy our time together."

Optimus was gazing at him with something akin to joy, and he leaned down and captured Prowl's lips. Prowl returned the kiss, needing and wanting it after Optimus' hesitation to touch him. Prime's lips were soft against his, and after pressing a chaste kiss upon him, he slipped his glossa into Prowl's mouth. Their glossae met and caressed each other, and Optimus drew him into a tighter embrace. Prowl moaned, unable to stop himself as both his body and spark reacted.

Optimus moaned as well and pulled back. "You really _do_ need to be cherished." He captured his lips again, and Prowl opened his mouth, inviting him back in.

Oh, how much he wanted Prime to do the cherishing. He wished he could open up his entire being to Prime, right there, and be made love to again. He wanted to feel that slow, gentle heat inside him again, around him, encompassing him. He wanted Prime to value him, respect him, love him, cherish him, and hold him dear. He wanted to be 'dearest Prowl' to Optimus.

He translated that need into their kiss, wrapping his arms around Prime's neck and meeting his glossa in a passionate caress. Prime helped him to shift to face him, hugging him tightly with one arm and cupping his helm with his other hand.

Optimus broke the kiss. "I want to love you," he whispered, his lips brushing against Prowl's as he talked. "I want you to love me, too."

Prowl nodded, unable to even speak. That was worth fighting for despite his wounds running deep and causing him fear. But he knew that his entire spark screamed out for that love, for that need to try. To fight and win.

oOoOo

Prowl awakened the following morning with a disturbing thought:

It was too good to be true.

"_Primus,_" he muttered, irritated with himself as he pushed out of his berth and headed to his private washrack. He wasn't one to parade around his officer's perks, but he did like having easy, private access to his own shower. He turned on the hot water, stepped into the jets, and leaned his forehead against the cool, coated-steel wall, trying to tame his processor.

It rebelled.

Images from the past confronted him: Blackslide, the first 'bot his creators' hired matchmaker brought to him. Lightwing, the second one. Darkshaft, the third. Blarebumper, the final one. And, of course, Sentinel. Each one had presented to him a mask of seeming perfection. Blackslide had been unfailingly gracious on the first two dates, then on the third revealed he was only after a piece of aft. Lightwing had seemed to have much in common with Prowl, and Prowl had become infatuated with him. However, on the twelfth date, Lightwing had announced he had fallen for someone else, a someone whom he'd already been on one date with. Prowl had stood up in the middle of the restaurant, dumped him, and left before their energon confections had arrived.

Having been deeply infatuated Lightwing and then burned, Prowl had refused to date again for a stellar cycle, rejecting every 'bot the matchmaker suggested, but he finally caved in to his creators' badgering. Next had been Darkshaft, who had been sweet and kind for eight consecutive dates, the absolute soul of gallantry, then abruptly yelled at Prowl on the ninth one for not popping cords. As for Blarebumper, she had professed to hate the matchmaking process as much as Prowl, and they'd shared four wonderful dates in which they'd ridiculed the whole process together. She'd claimed to make her own way, keep her own counsel, and think for herself, but by the fifth date she began worrying about what her friends and co-workers thought of their match and bending to their pressure to find a richer 'bot.

As the 'bots' masks had fallen away, Prowl had dumped each and every one. He'd wondered if being genuine and honest on the first date were secretly illegal in some rule book he hadn't discovered yet. But then there was Sentinel: the perfect picture of charm, nobility, responsibility, and honor . . . on the surface. Prowl had fallen into that trap all too well since Sentinel had maintained the act for a good while, definitely until after they'd interfaced.

But what about Optimus? Would he be like all the others? Change when he was sure he'd gotten what he wanted?

With a growl of frustration, Prowl turned off the shower and stepped over to the air dryers. The roar filled the tiny room, but the sound could never drown out his thoughts. Part of him resisted the fear, saying that Optimus' behavior with Elita proved he was different. The other part reminded him that he never had, and never could have, seen them behind closed doors.

Expelling a sigh out his vents, Prowl wandered back into his cabin proper, preparing to head to the rec room for his morning energon. Before he even reached the door, however, the intercom buzzed.

"Jazz," Prowl murmured to himself, realizing his friend would want to know how their date went. He triggered the door open, admitting Jazz into the room.

"Good mornin'." Jazz grinned at him and handed over an energon cube.

"Morning," Prowl replied noncommittally. He accepted the cube and trailed Jazz over to the sitting area. When Jazz plopped into one of the chairs, Prowl took the couch.

Jazz took a long sip from his own cube, then smiled at him again. "So? How'd it go?"

"Very well." That much was certainly true. Prowl frowned into his own cube, unsure which bothersome question to ask first: the one about masks or the one about his spark. He settled for the later one. "I had the strangest sensation in my spark, though."

Jazz's hand froze halfway to his mouth. "Ya did?"

"It was almost a burning sensation, plus a hard pulse." Prowl felt a moment's embarrassment to have to admit to such things and ask such questions, but the simple fact was he'd never had this experience with Sentinel. "It happened while Optimus was holding me and while we kissed."

Jazz nodded. "Yer chests were pressed together?"

"Yes." Prowl noted that Jazz seemed patently unsurprised. At least that meant it was normal.

"The pulse's a test. Yer spark's thinkin' Prime's might be compatible, and it's sending out a wave-type signal, almost like a ping." Jazz grinned. "That's a good sign. Even better that ya got the burning feelin'. Means yer spark's liking the return signal."

Prowl stared at him, flummoxed. His creators and the matchmaker had _never_ said a word about this. "I thought that was just a legend. Just romantic idealism, cheap-credit romance novelpads, and sentimental holovids!"

Jazz laughed. "Nah, nah. It's real. Ya do know spark compatibility is an issue in bonding, right?"

"Sure. But there's a medical test." Prowl shrugged. "I already know my spark's frequency is compatible with Prime's. I'm one of the two possible donors for him in our crew."

"Really? I didn't realize that." Jazz hmm'ed in fascination, then drank the rest of his energon in one gulp. "Well, yer spark doesn't care if there's a medical test or not. It does it itself." He thunked his empty cube on Prowl's end table. "And it sounds to me like it likes what it's seein'."

Prowl sat in silence for a moment, remembering his creators' dry recitation about the medical test and how Prowl couldn't keep rejecting suitors or he'd run out of compatible 'bots. He tried to reconcile that with the idealistic, romantic concept of his spark reaching out metaphysically to another's, singing out a song to see if the other could and would answer. "Primus, that's bizarre."

Jazz snickered. "The logical, pragmatic Prowl caught in the thrall of -"

"_Jazz._" Prowl cut off what was sure to be a highly overdramatic sentence or downright hyperbole. He ignored Jazz's chuckling as his processor combed over his past, trying to imagine that any such pull had existed between his creators. He tried equally unsuccessfully to imagine a bonding between Optimus and himself. Love was for other mechs only, right?

He frowned. It had always seemed to him that he'd been caught between other mechs' masks and their inappropriate or unrealistic expectations. Or that he was trapped between those who wanted him too much and tried to possess him and those who he loved but who didn't love him as much. In a familial way, even his own creators fell into the second categories, and Prowl's experience at the hands of both his family and his lovers had left him with only one conclusion: his feelings were meaningless.

Prowl set aside his own empty cube, trying to draw himself out of his thoughts, but the memories pursued him anyway.

-o-  
_  
Young Prowl stared through the bars of the military school's energy fence, the crimson glow creating an illusion of color for the distant grey building. His younger creator stood by him, holding his hand and squeezing it gently, but it offered no comfort. He knew why he was really here:_

He wasn't wanted.

The guard stepped out of his booth, nodding to them. "Designations?"

His creator smiled, his doorwings, so like Prowl's own, perking upward as he straightened his posture. "Stingray. And this is Prowl. We have an appointment with the headmaster."

The guard pulled a datapad from subspace, checked it, and then nodded again. "I'll inform him you're on your way." He stepped back into his booth, and moments later the energy bars faded.

With his view suddenly unobstructed, Prowl stared in horror at the grey monolith, which lacked any color or personality save the red Autobot symbol over its front doors. The campus spread around the ten-story building on all sides, with smaller grey buildings punctuating the dull, steel 'lawn.' He began to tremble, wanting nothing more than to beg his creator not to leave him here. He was only ten vorns old, after all. He'd never heard of a sparkling so young going to the academy. But then again, all his creators seemed to care about was his test scores. They wanted, and expected, perfection. Nothing else seemed to matter.

"Come on," his creator whispered, pulling his hand from Prowl's death grip and placing a palm in between his doorwings, propelling him forward. "We already discussed this, remember? It's the best thing for you. You will have an edge on all the other sparklings and should reach a vaulted position among the Enforcers."

'We discussed this?'_ he wanted to yell, tears of coolant springing to his optics. _'No,_ we _didn't discuss anything. You two told me I was going and didn't care how I felt!'_ But no words came to his vocalizer. Good sparklings didn't talk back. Good sparklings didn't argue. Good sparklings didn't speak their minds._

And he was_ a good sparkling. He just apparently wasn't quite good enough to be kept and loved._

"Don't be that way," his creator said, apparently noticing the tears as they headed up the walkway. "You know no normal school can provide you the education and upgrades you need."

If you're not good enough, if you're not perfect, we won't love you.__

Prowl didn't reply. He knew he was smarter than other sparklings his age and that the programming specialist had said he needed better upgrades than his school could provide. That, however, did not equate in his mind being abandoned.

His creator continued speaking. "And when you graduate, you'll have opportunities that will ensure you a prosperous life."

You know we don't want you, only your achievements.__

Again, Prowl didn't reply. He couldn't even imagine graduating or being an adult. He focused instead on the sounds rolling through the courtyard: an unseen mech barking numbers, a whistle, and rifle fire, which bounced off the building's cold, steel walls.

"And if you give it some effort, I'm sure you'll make friends in no time." His genitor's smile became strained.

You know we're disappointed with how you turned out. We expected you to be more ambitious and extroverted.__

Prowl turned his stare to his feet, knowing how dissatisfied his creators were in his quiet, introverted nature. They wanted someone bold, social, an inherently programmed leader, shaker, and doer.

They climbed the stairs and entered the academy, and as the doors swooshed shut behind them, all the outside noise was silenced. They stood in the quiet hallway for a moment as his creator read the electronic office directory. The hallway was dark and bland, nothing but a grey strip with doors. Murmuring voices and the occasional beep of an incoming call were the only sounds.

"All right," his genitor said. "This way." He took his hand again and strode down the hallway. "Now wipe your face. You need to be gracious and polite when we meet the headmaster."

You know that taking care of you isn't convenient; we have a business to run and merchandise to market. So I'm going to let these 'bots do it instead.__

Prowl was terrified, but he scrubbed the tears off his face with the back of his free hand.

No one cared how he felt.  
  
-o-

Prowl shook himself out of his memories. Jazz was watching him closely, his lips pulled into a concerned frown.

"How do you know that someone will continue to care how you feel?" Prowl asked abruptly, bluntly. "Dating is conquest. People put on their best faces. But when people relax and the mask comes off . . . when the conquest is over and the prize won . . . they sometimes become someone else. And bonding itself. I've heard it changes mechs. It's like the official nature of it clicks off something in their processors, and all the habits and patterns they learned from their creators take over. And then the next thing you know, your bondmate is less attentive and you stop treating each other as special. Then the fights start."

Jazz stood and slipped onto the couch beside him, settling on his haunches and pulling Prowl into a sideways hug. "What ya described can happen. Sometimes mechs'll change like that. The danger of that happenin' is greater, I think, with 'bots that didn't date long before bondin'. Didn't know each other for long."

"I suppose." Prowl knew that had been an issue with some couples he'd known. He rested his head on his friend's shoulder. It had taken vorns for Prowl to be comfortable enough to let Jazz hug him, to let anyone touch him. But slowly, with time, he had adjusted.

Jazz stroked his arm in a comforting fashion. "And Optimus and ya have known each other for millions of stellar cycles. Ya both have seen each other at yer best and worst, and you've been friends all this time. I don't think he's gonna change on ya."

"But sometimes they date for stellar cycles, and it still turns out that way," Prowl pointed out.

"Yeah." Jazz squeezed him. "But what yer sayin' is also highly deterministic. Some mechs aren't wearin' masks, and some mechs can overcome the bad examples of their creators. Or, in some cases, they have good role models. If yer dedicated, ya can overcome anythin'. There's no reason to damn yerself to some set behavior or fate. Might take work, but ya have free will. And, besides, ya need to just have faith that if ya love each other, ya will work together to deal with any problems that come up. Remember: a lover loves."

Prowl considered the cold nature of his own creators' relationship and knew he didn't want to be that way with Optimus. That he would make _sure_ he wasn't. "I suppose you're right."

"I'm always right."

Prowl chuckled and lifted his head. "Insufferable glitch."

Jazz was smiling at him. "Nah. Just honest."

Returning the smile, Prowl thanked Primus for Jazz's friendship and steeled himself to keep moving forward, even if he had to defeat all his fears one at a time.

oOoOo

Prowl stood with Ratchet at the _Ark's_ entrance, visually accounting for the returning mechs while Ratchet scanned them for injuries. He didn't like the strange few orns they'd been having. First, Tracks and Bumblebee had gone missing, then when search teams had been deployed, Inferno had radioed Prime about a trap. When he added in the missing Soviet experimental jet, Prowl found that his battle computer gave him disturbing probabilities. And now, to top it off, Jazz, Grapple, Inferno, Beachcomber, and Blaster were all missing.

"Think it's the 'Cons?" Ratchet asked quietly after the twins checked in safely.

Prowl stared across the flat desert stretching away from him. The heat rippled up from the packed sand in water mirages, and the sun evoked a blinding glare. "It is possible, of course. However, no unusual Decepticon activity has been reported, and Megatron hasn't radioed to gloat or make demands. It is equally possible we are looking at something else altogether." He noted a dust cloud on the horizon and hoped that meant their final team, Bluestreak and Brawn, were reporting in.

"Worried about Jazz?" Ratchet asked, his usual bluster still set aside in respect for everyone's concerns.

Prowl glanced at him. "I'm sure Jazz can handle whatever has occurred." Which was true, but it didn't make Prowl any less worried. Anything or anyone who could capture Jazz was a force to be reckoned with, unless Jazz had been distracted by some bit of Earth culture. His obsession with local culture was his only downfall.

"Admitting it won't kill you," Ratchet groused, quirking an optic ridge at him.

"I'm worried," Prowl said easily and bluntly.

Ratchet paused, frowning. "Somehow hearing you say that didn't have the effect I imagined."

Prowl had to smile. He knew quite well the crew relied on him to be levelheaded and calm despite the situation, and he distracted Ratchet with checking over Bluestreak and Brawn once they arrived.

Once everyone was accounted for, Prowl headed to the control room, joining Prime, Ironhide, Warpath, Hoist, Windcharger, and Mirage.

"Our fellow Autobots are missing," Prime was saying, "and we don't have a clue as to where they are."

Warpath stepped forward. "I say we go out and - bang! - nail some Decepticon hide."

Prime voiced the thoughts Prowl had been carrying all orn. "We have no proof that the Decepticons are behind this."

Teletraan interrupted them by displaying Cosmos on the main viewscreen. "Alert: Cosmos is broadcasting on the emergency frequency."

Prowl found himself unconsciously stepping forward with the others, concerned by what Cosmos may have found.

"Optimus, I have spotted something most disturbing." The Sky Spy's video feed showed nothing more than Cosmos flying in some indistinct patch of sky. "Relaying video pick up to headquarters."

Teletraan switched to Cosmos' feed, revealing a horrifying scene of their companions undergoing various forms of torture. Beachcomber was being forced to repeatedly dodge spikes; Bumblebee was dodging oversized blades. Grapple was being forced to keep a huge boulder aloft, and Tracks was being repeatedly shot at by some form of laser weapon. Cosmos swept back over them before Prowl could see what was happening to Jazz, Inferno, and Blaster, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know. The images were horrifying enough already.

Prime was staring at Beachcomber. "He'll be fine as long as he keeps his motor hopping. But Grapple's already beginning to fade." His fists clenched. "What kind of monster would build such devices? And for what purpose?"

_Good question,_ Prowl thought, his tanks churning. Decepticon torture devices and methods were much straighter forward, often involving slicing off limbs with laser blades or slowly dipping mechs into smelting pits. That meant a human had to be the cause of all this.

"Cosmos, send Teletraan 1 your exact coordinates," Prime ordered, clearly enraged.

"Right away, Prime." But the video feed of Cosmos descended into static. The transmission of a human male replaced the picture.

"Greetings, Optimus Prime," the man said, his accent tagging him as being from Great Britain. "Forgive the interruption, but you see your friends can't wait for your arrival."

"Who are you?" Optimus growled. "And what do you want?"

"Chumley is the name, and hunting's my game." Chumley seemed to find their conversation nothing more than a discussion over tea despite the dire situation. "I'm offering you a sporting chance to rescue your companions."

Prime leaned toward Teletraan's camera transmitter. "Torture isn't sport, but I accept your challenge."

"Oh, good show Mr. Prime! Directions will be forthcoming. I can't wait to begin!" Chumley laughed, clearly pleased.

Prime's engine revved low. "Fine. Then let's begin now." He grabbed the feedback lever and jerked it down, sending a massive charge back over Chumley's frequency.

Prowl watched the show of temper quietly, realizing that news of torture or rape were definitely triggers for the otherwise calm Prime. And rightfully so.

Optimus wasn't the only angry one. Warpath turned to Prime as soon as Teletraan's screen went blank. "Let's get in there and - Wham! Bang! - kick some tail!"

"No, Warpath, I'm going in there myself." Prime glanced around at them all. "If he wants one-to-one battle, he's going to get it."

Prowl barely suppressed his vocalizer, but Ironhide had no such qualms.

"Ya got ta be kiddin', Prime!" Ironhide held up both hands. "That's gotta be just what this Chumley human wants."

"I'm not risking any more of you." Optimus turned to Windcharger. "Get me a jet pack and meet me at the entrance." He swept out off the command deck, and Prowl followed him instantly.

"I understand your reasoning," he said, nearly having to jog to keep up with Prime. "But I have to say this worries me." _And that is an understatement._ He frowned, terrified Prime would be hurt by the madman. "I realize he's only a human, but he's somehow managed to capture seven of us. And specifically he's captured _Jazz._"

Prime stopped at the _Ark's_ entrance and clasped Prowl's shoulder. "I realize that. I will be careful." He paused as Windcharger arrived with the jet pack. "You just keep everyone here safe, Prowl."

"Yes, sir." Prowl watched Optimus transform and Windcharger attach the jet pack to him. He didn't like it at all. He couldn't shake the feeling something terrible would happen to Prime.

And, he realized abruptly, he could no longer imagine a life without Prime's love and laughter in it.

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_Postscript: I really appreciate the feedback and reviews, so thank you to the following: Shizuka Taiyou, Kaeda Akira, OrianPrime92, renegadewriter8, bluebimbomushi, BitterSweetDrug, sphinx01, Phoenix13, Sear, Yami-Yugi3, Thornwitch, and Sslaxx. Much love to you all!_


	8. An Hour upon the Stage

_A/N: In which I make Sunbow's odd continuity errors work for me! Re-watch "Prime Target" and you'll see what I mean._

_As always, I greatly appreciate my reviewers and the time they take to encourage me. Thank you to the following: Transformers101, Kaede Akira, Carmilla DeWinter, OrianPrime92, Phoenix13, Reality Obscured, renegadewriter8, Yami-Yugi3, thepheonixqueen, Sslaxx, Optimus Bob, and Shizuka Taiyou._

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_**Chapter 8: An Hour upon the Stage**_

Prowl stood before Teletraan's main viewscreen, frowning at the Sky Spy's transmission, which showed Optimus landing in the Mojave Desert. Apparently one of Lord Chumley's castles was tucked away there, although a search on the eccentric madman had revealed he had homes in England, Scotland, France, Tanzania, Jamaica, and the U.S. It also revealed that he had not only inherited money but also made more himself in the oil, automotive, electronic, and real estate industries.

In short, he was a human with too much time and money on his hands, and Prowl didn't like what that meant for his fellow Autobots.

Optimus' transmission broke Prowl's concentration. ::Autobots, this is Prime. I have arrived in the target area::

Prowl crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Optimus enter the man's property. He did _not_ like Prime's being there alone. Judging by the grumbling gaggle of mechs standing behind him, he wasn't the only one.

"Are ya gonna leave it like this?" Ironhide asked, fuming as he stared at the screen.

Snorting, Prowl calculated that the odds of Ironhide pressing for action were 99.4 percent. Other than being the kind who acted first and thought later, Ironhide was unequivocally one of Prime's three closet friends.

Over the speakers came Prime's voice again, and he sounded none-too-pleased with Lord Chumley. _"You better hope I find them before I find you."_

_Threatening,_ Prowl thought with approval. No good commander took the capture and torture of his mechs well, even if they had determined that the captured mechs weren't in too serious danger physically.

"Well?" Ironhide demanded, then paused and added almost as an afterthought, "sir?"

Prowl cast him a sidelong gaze. Their crew had grown very lax and informal on some counts given their small size and remote location, but some things needed to be upheld. "As a matter of fact, I'm probably not." He knew his statement was vague, but he had a devious moment in which he decided not to explain himself.

"Probably not whut, sir?" Ironhide predictably asked, shifting from foot-to-foot in a clear need for action.

Prowl had occasionally wondered what kind of damage the brig would take if they ever had cause to put Ironhide in solitary confinement. "I'm probably not going to just stand here and watch," he clarified, frowning at the viewscreen as a bizarre dragon-like creature charged Prime. Where in the slaggin' polyverse had Chumley found such an animal? "Prime ordered me to keep you all safe. But he didn't specify _where_ to keep you safe, and he didn't expressly order me not to follow."

Bluestreak laughed. "Is that creative interpretation of orders, sir?"

"I have no imagination, remember?" Prowl replied, but he was jerked out of his banter by the sight of the dragon tearing not one but two holes into Prime's shoulders. He could feel his doorwings quivering from his stress. ::Prowl to Skyfire.:: he said, opening his internal comm. link. ::Report to the entrance at once and standby for possible departure.::

::Yes, sir!:: Skyfire sounded all too jubilant at the idea, as though he'd been impatiently awaiting an obvious order. Prowl considered the situation and supposed it really was obvious.

On screen, Prime defeated the dragon, only to be captured by some kind of red energy net. Ironhide was growling in his engine as he watched.

Warpath stepped up beside Prowl. "Hey, sir, can we go and even the odds by - Wham! Bang! - taking out some of those traps?"

Prowl's battle computer was telling him Prime's chances of success given the traps thus far were 93.63 percent. He was also ready to tell his battle computer where it could shove its statistics. Still, he needed to act responsibly. "Well, if Prime -"

"Deceptuhcons," Ironhide interrupted, jabbing his finger at the screen.

Prowl whirled to watch Astrotrain and Blitzwing land behind Prime in the mock Cybertron construction. "We're going," he snapped, totally ignoring anything else his battle computer had to say on the matter. That was _his_ Optimus who was in danger. "Ironhide and Bluestreak, you'll be in team one with me, assisting Prime. "Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Warpath, you'll be team two. Recover the hostages." He turned to Red Alert. "You're acting commander until we return."

A chorus of "yes, sirs" and bloodthirsty cheers erupted as Prowl transformed and raced to Skyfire, his mechs close on his bumper.

After they were loaded onto Skyfire, they watched in tense silence as the Sky Spy kept up the video feed on Skyfire's internal terminal. Prime worked through a long series of traps and obstacles, including a fake woman chained to a manacle, a scorpion 'bot, and an attack by Astrotrain. Prowl thought his spark would ice over when Prime went down, lying motionless for several kliks.

_Primus,_ he prayed unabashedly. _Please preserve him!_ He clenched his fists on the edge of his chair so tightly Skyfire yelped. The terror was so mind-numbing he didn't even think to apologize as he loosened his grip. Optimus meant far, far too much to him to lose now.

"Prime's tougher than that," Ironhide said, crossing his arms. "He can't be dead."

Prowl wasn't sure who Ironhide was trying to convince: them or himself. He tried to latch on to Ironhide's seeming surety, though. Still, his entire body was vibrating with tiny tremors. _He has to be alive. He has to be!_ It was more than the price to their cause and morale. It was his personal love for Optimus.

"Ya'll know I'm right," Ironhide growled. "Just wait and see."

"The damage doesn't look too extreme," Ratchet replied. "I think he's probably just stunned."

Prowl grabbed on to that assessment with his entire spark, clinging to it until he saw Prime stir and stand up. His stress, though, only receded slightly. He needed to get to Prime _now_. "Skyfire, what's our ETA?"

"Five kliks, sir."

_Slaggit!_ he thought, exasperated. His doorwings began quivering from stress again, but he still found himself watching Optimus approach Lord Chumley's castle and lift the iron gate. _Stay safe,_ he thought, counting the remaining kliks down in astroseconds. As soon as Skyfire landed, he transformed and screeched out of the cargo hold.

::Let's roll,:: he barked over the comm. line.

Bluestreak and Ironhide hadn't lost any time joining him and in fact tailgated him into the castle. Ratchet was leading his team around the castle to the back, where the hostages were being kept.

Prowl slid to a stop in the castle foyer and transformed, following the path of destruction caused by one angry Prime. He squeezed up the stairwell and through an odd metal tube, then he ran through the hole busted through the wall of Lord Chumley's command center. Optimus was at the far side of the room, looking back and forth down the hallway exposed by yet another mech-sized hole.

"My mechs first," Prime muttered, stepping right, only to stop at the sound of Bluestreak stumbling on some loose stones. He turned toward the noise, then seemed to freeze where he stood.

"Ratchet is leading a team to rescue the others, sir," Prowl said.

Optimus' optics brightened. "Prowl!"

Ironhide stomped around Prowl and pointed a finger at Prime. "Hey, no way were we lettin' ya face this freak alone. An' ya just _try_ to delay Ratchet in gettin' ta his patients."

Prime laughed, walking up and squeezing Ironhide's shoulder with one hand and Prowl's with the other. "I should have known." He met Prowl's gaze for a moment, and he seemed to ponder saying something more before dismissing it. He reached up, touching his fingertips to Prowl's cheek briefly, then dropped his hand.

The sounds of scrambling mech feet echoed down the hallway, then Ratchet was peering into the room. "Got them all, Prime. No major injuries, although Grapple, Inferno, Blaster, Tracks, and Beachcomber have used too much energy. I had them shut down into stasis, and Warpath is guarding them."

"Excellent." Prime headed toward the hallway, clearly still on a mission. "Then we have a human to catch and possibly two Decepticons to deal with. Let's go!"

Prowl, Ironhide, and Bluestreak joined Prime, Bumblebee, Ratchet, Jazz, and Wheeljack as they ran down the hallway. They could hear Astrotrain and Blitzwing yelling, probably at Lord Chumley, and jerked their weapons from subspace, charging the 'Cons as they entered the room. Having no weapons, Astrotrain and Blitzwing immediately fled.

"No point in chasing after them," Optimus said, watching them go. He turned toward the trembling Chumley. "Here's the trophy I want."

Prowl smirked, mentally dubbing the mission a success.

oOoOo

Once they'd returned the lost jet to the USSR, along with Chumley as punishment for his stealing it, they went back to base triumphant. A short celebration ensued, although Prime took Prowl's hand and led him away once the dancing got started.

"You came after me," Optimus noted softly as they entered the hallway. "And not for tactical reasons. It was personal, wasn't it?"

"We never hold out on rescues, sir," Prowl pointed out, feeling the need to defend his actions as logical. "And you would have needed Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Skyfire to deal with any injuries and transportation back to base."

Optimus' optics were glowing a bit bright. "It was personal," he repeated, his tone neutral.

Prowl began to worry that maybe Prime was suggesting he was emotionally compromised. "I would never let my feelings for you jeopardize this crew, sir. That being said, of course I was anxious to reach you. I was worried for your safety."

Optimus had brought them to his quarters. "Is that why you swept into Chumley's command center like an avenging spark or Primus-sent rescuer?" He punched in his access code, and the door slid open.

Having detected a note of fond amusement in Prime's voice, Prowl relaxed. "Yes, sir."

Prime released his battle mask, revealing a small, loving smile. "It was quite a stunning sight. I was struck speechless and nearly kissed you right in front of Ironhide and Bluestreak." Then, without any ado, he grasped Prowl's arms, dragging him into the cabin and letting the door shut behind them.

"But the fact is that you disobeyed me," Prime said, his tone suddenly one of mock censure, his voice dropping into a purr. "I told you I was going alone."

It took Prowl's processor a moment to catch up to the abrupt change in Prime's behavior, but he answered with the first words that came to mind. "I was watching everything on the Sky Spy, sir. I saw you get hurt." Prowl shivered as Prime gently but firmly turned him around and pressed him face-first against the wall. His doorwings had been pushed practically into Optimus' face by the position, and Prime's engine revved faintly. Prowl's circuits burned with growing arousal.

Prime stepped close behind him, the heat of his armor warming Prowl's own. "But you still disobeyed me. I should 'discipline' you." His tone was teasing, but he retained his grip on Prowl's arms.

Prowl wasn't sure how far the game would go or how serious Prime would be with it, but he decided to play along for the moment. Prime had been extremely courteous during their inebriated lovemaking, after all, and if Prime were going to touch his doorwings now, he hardly wanted to protest. "Sir, you gave no direct orders about backup or specifications concerning - ah!" He gasped sharply as Prime captured the tip of the right doorwing in his mouth, sucking and nibbling.

"Be quiet. You earned this, solider," Prime murmured, licking up the edge of the 'captured' doorwing.

Nearly twisting out of Prime's hold, Prowl moaned and arched into the wall. _Primus,_ he thought fuzzily. _I haven't even told him about my fantasy yet!_ He could only imagine what would happen when Optimus learned he _wanted_ to be trapped and have his doorwings ravished.

As though responding to Prowl's thoughts, Optimus licked across the right doorwing's demarcation line, then ran his glossa around the door handle before sucking on it. Prowl cried out and thrashed against the hands that held him, but he was securely restrained. A small portion of his processor pointed out to him that he was extending Optimus a massive amount of trust, but the truth was he _did_ have faith Prime wouldn't hurt him. And because of that, he let go, immersing himself in the sensations.

"I can't tell you what joy I felt realizing you'd come after me, and not just as an officer or comrade," Prime whispered, switching to the other doorwing.

The words were picked up and amplified as pleasure by Prowl's door sensors, and he found himself panting. "I-I will always come after you."

Optimus moaned at those words and attacked the left doorwing, nipping the tip, sucking the door handle, and licking the crease where the window glass met the metal. Prowl moaned loudly, wantonly, completely comfortable with Optimus and uncaring about what sounds he made. Then Prime released one arm to reach up and fondle the right doorwing simultaneously, caressing the panel with long, sensuous strokes. Prowl pressed his freed hand and his hot cheek against the cool metal wall, crying out at the dual stimulation. When Prime licked up his door hinges, he yelled even louder, close to overload.

"P-Prime!" he gasped, part of him wanting to call it off, feeling it was too soon for this level of intimacy. The other part was succumbing to pure lust and the burning passion pounding through his lines.

"You're so beautiful," Prime whispered. His engine revved, and the vibration carried through Prowl's doorwings, setting off every sensor in the process.

Prowl whimpered, hung on the edge, and when Optimus licked his door hinges again, he overloaded with a cry, unable to hold back.

Optimus grew very still, then released him. Prowl leaned against the wall, panting to cool his systems.

"I'm sorry," Optimus said, gently turning Prowl to face him. "I didn't realize you were so close to overload." He pulled him into his arms, hugging him close. "I never want you to feel rushed into intimacy or 'facing." He chuckled weakly. "Apparently I have much to learn about the sensitivity of doorwings, though."

Prowl had to smile. "By the way," he said, utterly deadpan, "doorwings are highly sensitive, and you can accidentally overload me just by touching them if you're not careful."

Optimus laughed. "So I've learned." He cupped Prowl's cheek and pressed a kiss to his chevron. "Did I make you uncomfortable?"

"No, not at all." Prowl toyed with the idea of admitting his fantasy, then considered also telling Prime he wasn't ready to interface. He finally decided he should at least speak up on the latter part. "It's true I'm not ready to 'face yet, though."

"That's fine. No rush, love." Prime leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

Prowl's memory banks immediately spat out footage of their inebriated night together: _'It's okay, love. Let go.'_ A tingle shot through his circuits, part passion and part joy. Optimus truly had loved him from the beginning, just as he had loved Prime. He wondered if he could get up the courage to tell him so.

"Shall we sit down?" Prime asked, keeping his arm around Prowl as he turned toward the room.

Prowl nodded, and they moved to the couch and settled side-by-side. Optimus wrapped his arm around his shoulders, and Prowl leaned into his side, resting his head on his chest. He couldn't help noticing, though, how hot Prime's armor was. He was unsurprisingly affected by overloading Prowl, and he wondered what he should do about it.

"So, now that we've handled madmen and Decepticons, let's discuss more pleasant things," Prime said, smiling at him. "Like where we should go on our next date."

Half of Prowl's processor considered the question while the other half pondered Prime's charged up systems. "Well, Jazz and Mirage have been raving about some hot springs they discovered in Japan. Hound and Trailbreaker are in love with several countries in Africa, even though their visit there was truncated by Decepticon activity."

"Earth has so many beautiful locales," Prime said, staring off as though accessing a file on them. "We were lucky to land here, and I wonder how long we'll be blessed to stay here."

Prowl's processor solved the second problem, and he climbed onto Prime's lap, settling his knees to the outside of Prime's thighs. "There is one thing _I've_ wondered," he admitted, reaching up to caress one of Prime's finials with his fingers.

"What's that?" Optimus asked, shivering at the touch.

"Just how sensitive these are," Prowl murmured, leaning up to brush his lips over the opposite finial.

Prime gasped and hugged his waist tightly. "Not as much as doorwings, I suspect, but -"

Prowl sank his mouth down over the finial, capturing it and running his glossa around it, and Prime never finished his sentence. With a moan, Optimus arched into him and clutched him tightly. Prowl wasn't sure what his end goal was, but he did know he wanted Prime to feel as good as he had. Also, he felt bad that Optimus was so worked up, so he gave the finial his rather considerable attention. He licked up the length of the metal, swirled his glossa around it, then enveloped the finial in his mouth again.

Optimus groaned, his engine revving wildly, and Prowl felt the strange spark pulse again, followed by the pleasant burning sensation. Encouraged, he switched to the opposite finial, lapping it slowly before sucking it into his mouth.

"Prowl!" Optimus moaned loudly, shifting on the couch and squeezing his waist. "I - ah!"

Absolutely cherishing the ability to make Optimus feel pleasure, Prowl doubled his efforts, moaning against the finial as he licked, nipped, and sucked on it. Prime shivered, then cried out as Prowl began stroking the other finial with his fingers at the same time. Hands caressed Prowl's back, sporadically clutching his light bar as he moaned against the finial.

Optimus' armor grew increasingly hot as he moaned and writhed, and Prowl realized he very much wanted to see him overload. An idea struck him, and he pulled back slightly. "It's okay, love," he whispered directly against the finial. "Let go."

Prime arched into his arms with a howl, stiffening and then growing suddenly silent in his overload. Prowl watched his face, so beautiful in pleasure, and knew he wanted to always be with him. Optimus hugged him tightly, panting into his neck for a klik, then released him. Prowl sat down on Prime's lap and smiled up at him.

"You didn't have to do that," Prime said, returning the smile. "But thank you. It was wonderful."

Prowl shrugged faintly, happy to have brought Optimus such pleasure. "You're welcome. And it only seemed fair."

"I'm not keeping count!" Prime wrapped his arms around him again. "Remember, it's not a trade off. You're not a pleasure 'bot."

Prowl felt a moment's horror that his past had so quickly and silently crept in. He'd defaulted to the 'I owe him' mindset without even realizing it. Still . . . "I also wanted to make you feel good."

"I'll accept that." Prime picked up his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. "But only that. You don't exist to service me, love."

That word again. Prowl paused, hung somewhere for feeling bad that his past had reared its ugly head and ruined their nice moment and elated that Prime spoke to him with such honor and affection. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." Optimus leaned in and pressed a kiss to the arch of his nose as well. "I'm concerned about your well-being and happiness."

Prowl processed those words, then reached up and cupped Prime's cheek in his hand, reversing their gestures. "You love me." A statement of fact.

"Yes." Prime began leaning forward, their lips drawing closer.

"I . . . I do . . . love you, too," Prowl whispered, terrified to speak the words but pushing them out anyway. He felt safe enough to let Prime know the truth of what he'd been feeling all along.

"Prowl," Prime gasped, and it sounded caught somewhere been surprise and desire. Then their lips met, and no more words were necessary.

oOoOo

"I can do this," Prowl announced without warning, looking up from his datapad to gaze at his companion. He knew all his focus should be on his work, but as per usual, his processor had been multitasking.

Jazz glanced up from the massive stack of field test reviews overwhelming Prowl's desk. There were so many it was almost as though the datapads were breeding when no one was looking. Everyone in the _Ark_ was being reviewed psychologically as well as on reaction times and weapons accuracy, the latter having been an issue lately. It generated a mass of data to be analyzed, though, and Jazz had chosen to sit across the desk from Prowl for the process instead of the usual remote file-swapping.

"Ya can do what?" Jazz asked after taking a moment to apparently shift his focus.

"Be in a long-term relationship with Optimus." Prowl let a smile grace his lips, his realization making him overjoyed and peaceful. "Even bond to him, eventually. He loves me with a pure love I can barely comprehend. He's patient and never demanding. He actually cares about my needs and feelings. I've loved him a long time, but now I also feel _safe_ with him."

An answering smile bloomed across Jazz's face. "Awesome! That's great, man." He set down his datapad, which held Sunstreaker's results. "I was hopin' you'd see that. Come to believe it. I think he's good for ya, and I think he'd be a wonderful bondmate for ya."

"It's strange," Prowl admitted, signing his approval of Sideswipe's results. "I'm so used to dating being an unmitigated disaster and total nightmare. It's processor-blowing to finally find someone who loves me and treats me well." He picked up Brawn's results and read down the column of numbers and statistics, unsurprised to see him in the top 98th percentile. Brawn loved nothing more than fighting, after all.

Jazz chuckled. "I told ya not to give up. Not all the 'bots in the universe are selfish and self-centered. Some of them actually love their mates instead of bein' in a relationship for whatever they can get outta it."

Prowl nodded, finally willing to believe it was true. "I was sure I'd never find one." He stopped to reconsider. "Well, perhaps I hoped I'd found one, but he was already taken by Elita One. It seems to work that way, after all."

"I guess it does." Jazz shook his head, his visor dimming. "Ya know, I'm sorry we lost her. She was an outstandin' commander and a good friend. But on the romantic front, I'd glad ya now have Prime for yerself."

It was a strange thought that death had given Prowl what he'd desired. "I'm also sorry that Prime grieved so hard, although I'm not surprised he did. He loved her so very much. But now that he's willing to move forward, I'm glad to have this chance. It's so amazing I can hardly believe it's happening."

"A chance made possible by yer choice to move forward, too." Jazz lifted one finger to accentuate his point.

"Indeed." Prowl smiled and reached over to squeeze Jazz's forearm. "Thank you for talking me through so much. I appreciate it, and I'll probably need a bit more help before it's through."

Jazz grinned. "That's what friends are for."

oOoOo

Prowl was awakened from recharge by a persistent beeping that his processor finally told him was his internal comm. link. He stared at the ceiling, trying to get his bearings. He'd pulled five consecutive shifts to finish those reports, and he'd been given the orn off to recharge nonstop. In fact, everyone was under orders from both Prime and Ratchet to not bother him unless there were an extreme emergency, and slaggit if he didn't _need_ some rest -

Emergency.

Prowl threw open his end of the link and sat up. ::Prowl here.::

::Sorry to bother ya, Prowler, but I need ya on the Command Desk.::

::I'll be right there. Prowl out.:: He climbed off the berth and with six quick steps was out of the cabin. Confused as to why Jazz was the one to summon him, he checked with Teletraan, who reported that Jazz was the commander on shift. He frowned, knowing it was supposed to be Prime. That likely meant Prime was on a mission now.

When he entered the Command Deck, Prowl couldn't figure out why no one was looking at him or greeting him. He might not be as popular or charming as Jazz, but he always strove to be pleasant and polite, plus he was respected. Even those who got irritated with his logic or disciplinary measures always greeted him even when off duty. The way Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Trailbreaker, and Tracks were staring doggedly at their stations worried him. What had happened?

Jazz was awaiting him at the main Teletraan terminal, a frown fixed to his lips. "We have a situation," he murmured. "I authorized Ironhide's takin' a team to Cybertron to handle it."

"To Cybertron?" Prowl was shocked. The situation had to be extreme, indeed, for Jazz to order such a thing. Still, Jazz was the commander on shift, so as long as he ran the decision past Prime first, Prowl had no reason to protest.

Jazz hit the replay button on Teletraan's vid feed. "It's Prime."

Prowl stood in stony silence as he listened to Megatron's taunts about the femmes. There had never been many of femmes; according to ancient records, only 2,000 had originally been produced as an experimental design and only another 11,531 built through modern times. Elita One had the last twelve left alive under her command, but Optimus had seen her be killed, reportedly, as the _Ark_ left Cybertron.

. . . but the femmes were alive.

Elita One was alive.

"And Prime?" Prowl asked, his voice sounding hollow to his audios. Every drop of energon in his tank and lines seemed to be slowly turning to liquid nitrogen.

Jazz paused, then spoke quietly. "He dashed off to save Elita. By himself."

_Funny,_ Prowl thought, _that when the words that can break me are spoken, I can't feel anything._ It seemed a summation of his entire life: love was not meant for him. Love was something that everyone else had, or thought they had until it crashed and burned around their heads, but something never directed at him. This was just another example: Prowl had been cared for, but he could not compete when a deeper love was recovered.

"Prowl?" Jazz whispered, reaching for his arm.

"I'll be in my quarters. Carry on." Prowl turned and left, knowing Jazz couldn't follow. He didn't see the horrid orange walls as he walked, didn't hear the voices of the mechs who passed him. Didn't feel the keypad of his door when he entered the code.

Resolute to ensure he wasn't jumping to conclusions, since that would be illogical, Prowl brought up the Command Deck's security footage. Maybe Prime was simply honoring his long relationship with Elita. Surely re-watching his reactions would clarify the matter.

Optimus' voice filled the silence of Prowl's quarters: _"Megatron."_

_The footage showed Megatron was smirking on Teletraan's viewscreen. "Optimus Prime, something rather exciting has been discovered on Cybertron. I thought you might like to know about it."_

_"Get to the point, Megatron." Prime sounded particularly unimpressed._

_Megatron's smirk never wavered. "It seems that female Autobots still exist on Cybertron."_

_"_What_?" The sound and sight of Prime's shock lanced through Prowl's spark, somehow made more real by watching it a second time._

_"Some of them were foolish enough to break into our headquarters on Cybertron," Megatron had continued._

_Prime's entire body had grown tense. "You're bluffing, Megatron."_

_"I realized you would demand proof. How's this, Prime?"_

_Megatron's face was replaced by live footage of Elita struggling against Ramjet and Astrotrain._

_Prime immediately grew desperate, enraged. "_Elita!_ Let her go, Megatron! Or I'll -"_

_"You'll surrender immediately," Megatron interrupted, "if you ever want to see Elita One functioning again." His smirk grew positively gloating. "You have two Earth hours to make up your mind."_

_Prime growled as the transmission cut out. "Teletraan, I need you to locate the Decepticon's space bridge." He punched buttons frantically, drawing up the necessary information. "Hold on, Elita! I _will_ rescue you. I won't fail you!" His voice was broken, anguished, panicked._

Prowl watched the footage of Prime transforming and peeling away and felt the pain building up behind his mental defenses. It was inevitable, of course. Optimus had dated no one but Elita for the five million stellar cycles they'd carried those names prior to the _Ark's_ departure. He'd also dated her as Ariel while he was still Orion Pax. They'd probably been lovers before Prowl even left Praxus and met Sentinel. Optimus had been grieving her supposed death all this time.

Prowl didn't stand a chance.

Reaching out, Prowl turned off his terminal and stood, staring at his berth. The pain unfurled, roiled, and crashed against his defenses, beating at him, howling, surging, pressing to be released. He wrapped his arms over his chest, as though forcing his spark to remain in his chassis, and hunched over. "Primus," he gasped, hit with the horror of it. He stumbled around his desk and toward his berth. "_Primus!_"

No more strong, warm arms to hold him. No more whispered words of love. No more curling up on a couch or lying under the stars. No more private jokes or shared looks of affection. No promise of something more to come: sharing sparks, sharing bodies, sharing a life. All those things were Elita's before, except the sparkbond, and all of them would be hers again, no doubt including the sparkbond.

Crawling into his berth, Prowl curled into a ball, still clutching his chest, and ignored the tears of coolant escaping his optics. His entire frame had heated up, not just his processor, and he wondered for a moment if he might melt from the inside-out. "_Primus,_" he sobbed, wanting so much to deny what was likely happening on Cybertron at that very moment: a joyful reunion, a re-declaration of love, an overwhelming relief to find the other wasn't dead.

And lying alone in the darkness of his quarters, Prowl felt that to have the love of a lifetime offered to him and then retracted was the greatest evil.


	9. Out, Out

_A/N: Based on "The Search for Alpha Trion," with some adaption for my storyline. Still, I'm obviously siding with its portrayal of the femmes being attacked and supposedly killed as the Ark is leaving rather than the version in "More than Meets the Eye, Part 1." In the case of continuity errors created between "Search" and "War Dawn," namely that Prime doesn't seem to remember who his (re)creator is in one and does in the other, I am siding with "Search."_

_Remember, this is pre-"The Key to Vector Sigma," so the Aerialbots and Stunticons haven't been created yet._

_Thanks as always to pl2363 and Asher119 for the betas, with an extra thanks going to the former this time since one scene in this chapter is heavily based on an RP we did a few months ago._

_Continued love and thanks to my reviewers, who help keep me going strong: Kaede Akira, Hikarigirl18, EvoTFV, Indigo Feral (I promise to give you your life back!), Shizuka Taiyou, Carmilla DeWinter, OrianPrime92, TransFormers101, Darkwolf3000, Timon x3, Thornwitch, sphinx01, steelcrash, Hiding In My Writing, Yami-Yugi3, optimus prime 007, Aya-chan, thepheonixqueen, reaper mendez, Sslaxx, and renegadewriter8. You all are so wonderful I'm trying to figure out a special gift to give you at the very end of the story!_

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_**Chapter 9: Out, Out **_

Optimus Prime stood in Alpha Trion's base, hovering over Elita's form. He'd been initially shocked that Alpha Trion had wanted them, in a sense, to interface. He'd resisted the idea for an astrosecond, only to capitulate under the knowledge Alpha Trion would have a good reason. Connecting to her systems while she was unconscious was hardly sexy, but it had still felt so familiar a groan had escaped him. And he could never begrudge giving her some of his life energy. He had loved her for too long; he would do anything to save her.

But the entire incident had led to yet another shock: only his creator, or re-creator he supposed, would know that his spark was a perfect enough match to restore Elita's life force. He'd spent breems now sifting through his memory files, trying to restore the battered footage of the orn he was nearly killed and then remade. The longer he reviewed it, the more he remembered seeing a great deal of Alpha Trion.

Which meant that, in a manner of speaking, Elita was his sister.

"Just as well," he murmured to her. "Obviously Alpha Trion didn't consider it an issue since he never said anything about our relationship. But as it turns out . . ."

_As it turns out, I'm now in love with someone else._ He frowned to himself, caught in confusion and contradiction. _I love Elita, and I'd do anything for her. But I love Prowl just as much, and it doesn't feel quite the same._ He stared at the amber energy flowing from his body to Elita's. _I can never say I don't love her still, but the one my spark is drawn to is Prowl ._

He couldn't quite make sense of it. Something had changed. Something was different. But what and how? All he knew was that the image of Prowl's sweet face, that small smile of his gracing his lips, danced in his memory banks. Granted, neither Elita nor Prowl strictly _needed_ him. They could take care of themselves both on and off the battlefield and didn't require a bondmate or lover to look after them or validate their lives. But Prowl . . . Prowl had a way of soaking up his love and reveling in it, and it made Prime feel special and complete. He had loved Elita, and he knew Elita had loved him. But they'd never felt that pull, that need to go any further. To bond. They had discussed the possibility, but nothing ever came of it.

But with Prowl, Optimus felt driven to give himself to him and to cherish Prowl and protect him forever. And as his feelings for Prowl had grown and intensified, his romantic love for Elita had truly shifted into the past. Prowl was now the one he imagined bonding to.

"How will I explain all this to you?" he murmured to his lifelong love and now pseudo-sister. "I don't want to hurt you, either."

But as worried as he was for her, and on multiple counts, he was also worried for Prowl. He'd left without warning or explanation. Prowl had to be wildly concerned, and Prime felt guilty for that.

oOoOo

Prowl had fallen into a light, uncomfortable recharge in which he sensed something was terribly wrong but wasn't awake enough to remember what. Disjointed dreams invaded his mind as his memory banks short-circuited and dumped files on him: the sight of his creator, Stingray, walking away as he abandoned him at the Autobot Academy; the sight of Lightwing's frown as he indicated he'd found someone better; the sight of his best friend, Nosedive, as he walked away with his bondmate and never came back; and of course the image of Sentinel's leer and hurtful, grabbing hands. All of them paraded around his processor, mocking him with an endless procession of shallow, fake, or temporary love.

When the red alert klaxon blared throughout the base, jerking him awake, Prowl was at once thankful and not. He had no time to ponder it, though, because of his concern about what was happening. Did it have something to do with Optimus? He jumped of his berth and ran for the door.

Jazz's incoming comm. beeped at him. ::Jazz to Prowl.::

::Prowl here. Go ahead.:: He dashed into the hallway, heading toward the command deck.

::Decepticons bearing down on the base, five kliks out.::

::How many?::

::Looks like all of them, minus the handful we know are on Cybertron.::

::Slag! I'm almost there. Prowl out.:: He sped up, hitting the command deck in record time. "Sitrep!" he yelled as he entered.

Red Alert glanced up from the security station. "Omega Supreme has been recalled. Seekers are now in attack formation. Shall I call for the Dinobots, sir?"

_We'll need all the help we can get without Prime here._ "Yes. I want Grimlock front and center. Appeal to his vanity. He gets to be the premier warrior today." Prowl glanced at the gathering Autobots, sizing up their options. Ironhide, Powerglide, and Inferno had all gone to Cybertron after Prime. It was unfortunate since it specifically left them down one flier and one frontliner. At the same time, Prowl hoped they'd bring Prime back safely.

"Skyfire and Cosmos are here and ready to take off." Jazz walked up to his side.

Prowl nodded. He felt a flash of anger that Prime wasn't there like he was supposed to be, but he was trained to lead the army in his absence. It had been his responsibility for millions of stellar cycles. "We're forming three teams, not counting the Dinobots, and we'll try to draw them to each team and then flank them." He looked to Jazz and Mirage. "Jazz, you're leading team two. Mirage, team three." He turned to the gathered mechs. "Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Beachcomber, Bluestreak, Cliffjumper, and Seaspray, you're with me. We'll be flanking them from the right while the Dinobots stay front and center."

"Smokescreen, Huffer, Hound, Windcharger, Warpath, and Tracks, you're with Jazz. You'll be flanking them from the left.

"Bumblebee, Hauler, Gears, Skids, Blaster, and Brawn, you're with Mirage. You'll use the _Ark's_ tunnels to get behind them and flank them from behind.

"Skyfire and Cosmos will help with the Seekers. Omega Supreme will handle Devastator as soon as he arrives. Questions?"

Silence met him, and Prowl sensed the energy and anticipation buzzing and writhing in the room like a living entity. Prowl knew he had to play cheerleader in his own way. "We're going to beat their afts and send them home. When Prime returns, he won't even be able to tell anything happened. Transform and roll out!"

A deafening chorus of "yes, sir" and cheers erupted, then the air was filled with sounds of transformations.

Prowl turned to the remaining 'bots. "Ratchet, you and Perceptor stay in medical and prepare for injuries. Hoist and Wheeljack, you're the field medics. Trailbreaker, stay here and remotely direct the action. Grapple, man the base's cannons and focus on the Seekers. Red Alert, you have the comm." Prowl didn't wait for their acknowledgement, instead transforming and racing outside to meet the 'Cons. He sent his more detailed tactical plans in a data burst to Jazz, Mirage, Skyfire, and Omega Supreme.

When he reached the _Ark's_ entrance, Prowl transformed beside Grimlock, who was in his T-Rex form and watching Megatron's final approach. "You're Prime for the orn," Prowl said. "Megatron is all yours. Send him back in scraps."

Grimlock roared and beat his fists on his metal chest. "Yes, Megatron mine! Me prove Grimlock is the strongest of all! Dinobots make 'Cons look like flimsy sheet metal!"

Slag, Sludge, Snarl, and Swoop roared in agreement.

"Stay center so it's clear you're 'in charge,'" Prowl said, unabashedly using Grimlock's pride to control him. "You'll be defending the _Ark's_ entrance as well."

"We show little Autobots how it done," Grimlock said, smug.

Prowl simply nodded and ran to join his team, pulling his rifle out of subspace as he went. He barely reached his position before Megatron, Soundwave, Reflector, Frenzy, Ravage, and the Constructicons landed on the nearest hill. Overhead, the two trines of Seekers, minus Starscream and Ramjet, plus Blitzwing, Laserbeak, and Buzzclaw circled the volcano. The truth of it was that the Autobots had them completely outnumbered almost two to one, but Prowl knew that didn't assure them victory.

An incoming comm. drew his attention. ::Red Alert to Prowl.::

::Prowl here. Go ahead.:: He did not like the panic in Red's voice.

::More mechs approaching from the west, all on the ground! Sir, they appear to be drones.::

Prowl braced himself. ::How many?::

::Thirty!::

Prowl bit back a curse, his battle computer immediately processing the information. ::Acknowledged.:: However, he didn't get the chance to say anything further because Megatron chose then to speak.

"Greetings, Autobots," Megatron said, his haughty voice booming over the amassed mechs. His smirk was so obvious Prowl could see it from his position. "I have come bearing the most wonderful of all news: your beloved Optimus Prime is dead."

Prowl decided abruptly that the Pit was a real place and he was in it. "You're bluffing," he snapped coldly, hoping none of his mechs would believe the lie. Morale was at a premium with Prime and his charismatic leadership gone.

"Not at all," Megatron drawled. "I'm sure that you, dear Prowl, recognized that I was using Elita One to lure Prime into a trap. And he predictably took the bait and walked right into an ambush led by Shockwave."

The assembled Decepticons laughed maniacally, and Prowl felt a wave of uneasiness pass through his troops.

However, Prowl immediately rejected Megatron's words once more. "Lies," he pronounced calmly.

"Yeah," Jazz said, immediately bringing his own charisma and role as morale officer to the forefront. "We all know what yer words are worth, Megatron. Yer thinkin' to psych us out and score an easy victory while Prime is away, but that ain't gonna happen. We're gonna pound yer plates into the earth."

Shouts erupted from the gathered Autobots at Jazz's rallying words.

"Just let me at 'em!" Cliffjumper yelled.

Brawn immediately joined in. "I've got a ton of nickel-plated knuckle sandwiches for ya!"

"Let's just - Pow! Wham! - bust these guys' afts!" Warpath added.

Megatron appeared thoroughly unimpressed. "So pathetic to see your last 'brave' stand without your Prime." He glanced to his warriors. "Take the _Ark._ Leave no one alive." He turned and immediately opened fire with his fusion cannon.

_Primus, here we go,_ Prowl thought. "Attack!" He and Jazz immediately moved their teams into position, and Prowl caught sight of Mirage's team, although not Mirage himself, sneaking up from behind.

He would fight Megatron and the Decepticons with every last wire and bolt in his body. No way was he losing Prime's love and his home and mechs in the same orn.

oOoOo

With Shockwave and the rest of the 'Cons defeated, Prime stood in the new headquarters Alpha Trion had been secretly building for the femmes. Most of them were exclaiming over their new home, although Powerglide, Moonracer, Inferno, and Firestar were chatting. He watched them with only half his attention, however, because his processor was consumed with his problem. How could he explain to Elita what had developed between Prowl and him, and how would she take it?

Elita had finished her quick tour of the new base and came to his side. "You're mulling over something. I can tell." She smirked at him. "Spit it out."

Prime grimaced. "There's something I need to tell you."

A wry smile bent Elita's lips. "Well, there's something I need to tell you, too. But you go first."

Prime still wasn't sure how to reveal this. "I . . . thought you were dead. I thought you'd been killed in that attack."

"And after the first million stellar cycles, I was forced to conclude you were dead." Elita leaned against a console and crossed her ankles and arms.

Prime paused, wondering just what had happened in his four-million-stellar-cycle absence. "Then you know exactly how bad it was for me, thinking you were dead."

Elita shuddered. "Unfortunately. The grief was suffocating."

"Yes, it was," Optimus said quietly, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder briefly. He steeled himself to continue. "But recently . . . I began dating again." He watched her face closely, looking for signs of anger and feeling a twinge of guilt.

She chuckled. "And after four million stellar cycles, do you think I haven't?" She shook her head. "Who did you fall for?"

Optimus wasn't sure how to feel at that easy admission. Jealous? Relieved? It seemed they were 'guilty' of the same 'crime.' "Prowl. You?"

"Chromia." She laughed outright. "We both went for our SICs!"

"But Ironhide -" Prime paused as he realized Chromia would have gone through the same process as Elita. "Oh." He glanced across the courtyard, where Ironhide and Chromia were flirting. "You aren't intimidated by that?" For a moment, he wanted to be jealous – jealous that someone could have taken his place in Elita's life. Envious that anyone could make her as happy. But the truth was someone had taken _her_ place in his life, too. Someone he now loved very deeply.

"Not at all." Elita watched the pair with open fondness. "Chromia and I have bonded. She still loves him, but I can _feel_ that it is not the same way she now loves me."

A shock jolted Prime's circuits at this revelation. "Oh!" They had been lovers for millions of stellar cycles but never made the step to bonding, and she'd already bonded to someone else? What did that mean about their relationship?

"I'm glad you've found someone, too," Elita said, smiling at him.

"Thank you. And I'm glad for you, too." Optimus rubbed his temple, his processor aching, but as he pondered the turn of events, it made sense. Just like the _Ark_ was becoming a tighter and more insular community in which mechs were pairing up and beginning to bond, Elita's isolated team would have done the same over the vorns. And Elita and Chromia, who were already friends and grieving the same loss, would have spent an increasing amount of time with each other, time that had apparently turned romantic.

Elita was now frowning at him. "You know, Sentinel's former personal aide once suggested to me that Sentinel had dated Prowl."

Although he was shocked by the turn in conversation, Optimus managed to nod. "It's true."

"He also suggested Sentinel had been abusive to Prowl." She propped one fist on her hip.

Prime found himself grimacing again. "Also true."

"I expect you to take good care of him. Under that stoic façade is a sweet mech – I can tell. I think he'd be very dedicated to you, and I think you have the right kind of personality to show him true love."

Prime had to smile. Yes, Prowl needed him, and he needed Prowl. He wished he had Prowl with him at that very moment, and he felt a renewed pulse of fear at how worried Prowl must be for his safety. He'd rushed off without even telling anyone – a gross dereliction of duty, he knew, not to mention being thoughtless toward Prowl. He had some serious apologies to give.

Elita reached up and hugged him. "I'll always love you," she whispered. "Like a brother, now, but I'll love you all the same. The intensity of my feelings will never change, only the type."

"I'll always love you, too." Prime returned her hug, knowing what they said was true. In fact, now he knew that from a certain point of view they _were_ siblings. Perhaps this turn of events was for the best since he wasn't sure about the legality of such things in a case like theirs. Which counted? The identity of their sparks or of their bodies? He was glad he'd never have to figure that out.

Now to get back home to Prowl.

oOoOo

Prowl stared at the hard-packed sand beneath him, watching the purple, processed energon seep from his wounds and turn the ground nearly black. The battle had been waging for over a joor now. Megatron's sheer insistence on not retreating, mixed with his continual taunts about Prime's death, had worn down the Autobots. Omega Supreme had yet to arrive, having been further away than they anticipated, which paved the way for Devastator to pummel the troops. Megatron had concentrated his firepower on the ground-bound Dinobots until only Grimlock was still standing, but now even he was offline.

_I will not give up. I will not give in._ Prowl pushed himself to his feet, wobbling for a moment until his equilibrium stabilizers corrected themselves. _Megatron will not get the _Ark_ on my watch. I will not let us all be killed here._ There was no place to retreat to, and the injured mechs in medbay would be killed if the 'Cons breeched the base. He had to work with what they had left.

Prowl glanced around, taking stock. Almost three dozen mechs had entered combat, and of them, only Cliffjumper, Brawn, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Jazz, Warpath, and himself were left on the ground. Everyone else was either in stasis lock or already in medbay undergoing surgery. Jazz and the others glanced at him as he stood. Clearly, they had thought he was in stasis lock as well.

He opened a comm. line to them. ::Prime will return. We just have to hold out until then.:: He steeled himself, knowing what was on their processors. ::Prime is alive.:: He had to believe it; he would fold immediately if he didn't. ::I would know it if he were not.:: He let them make of that what they would, not caring that it counted as a lie. He would lie to them if it kept them alive. ::We are _not_ letting these slaggers win. Not ever. Even if it costs me my spark, I will never let them defeat us.:: He rarely spoke with such passion and bald determination.

It had the desired effect. The remaining warriors began to straighten their postures and regroup, and in the sky, Skyfire, Swoop, and Cosmos sped up.

::Jazz, Brawn, keep Soundwave and his cassettes distracted. Cliffjumper, take out Reflector. Skyfire, draw Devastator's attention away from us. Swoop, Cosmos, stay on the remaining Seekers:: Prowl scrambled to form a last-ditch strategy. The only thing working in their favor at the moment was that the drone troop had been wiped out. ::Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Warpath, you're going to join me in teaming up on Megatron. If we damage him enough, he will retreat.::

Sideswipe whooped into the comm. line. ::You got it, sir!::

Prowl motioned for his team to approach Megatron from opposite angles, and they jumped back into action. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe grabbed Megatron's arms while Brawn pounded him from behind. Prowl approached from the front and fired acid at his chestplates at pointblank range.

Megatron howled in pain, hurling the twins away and whirling to shoot Brawn in the leg. Prowl doubted his weapon was strong enough to breech Megatron's SHU, so he pointed at his face instead, deciding to blind him. Megatron leaped forward, though, knocking his rifle upward and sending the shot wild. He grabbed Prowl's neck with one hand and managed to grab a doorwing with his other.

"You will pay for that, fragger," Megatron hissed.

Prowl slammed his fist against the inside of Megatron's elbow, working to loosen his grip, but Megatron was too strong and too fast. He ripped Prowl's doorwing from his back. The shrill screech of metal rent the air, followed by Prowl's shriek of agony. His optics flashed white, but he instinctively jerked down his rifle, firing again. The shot struck Megatron in the side, and he threw Prowl away from him.

Prowl hit the dirt hard, his systems wailing warnings and sensors erupting in pain. He could smell the energon gushing from his wound, and although he tried desperately to shut down the sensors, they weren't responding. Energon was pooling in his mouth and dripping onto the sand below, a sign one or more of his lines were broken and flooding his intakes. Stasis lock was imminent.

_Primus, please don't let us fail,_ he thought, staring out ahead of himself. He saw Grimlock's optics light up, and the Dinobot shook his head and stood up, glancing around.

"Megatron pay for this!" he howled, charging the wounded leader.

_Must not fail,_ Prowl thought, trying to stave off the stasis lock. His back felt hot, but his arms and hands felt cold. He desperately wanted to see Prime one last time, to know he was safe, to be with him just briefly, even if he wasn't loved anymore.

A deafening roar of engines filled the air, followed by an earth-shaking thud.

"Devastator will stop!" boomed the voice of Omega Supreme. "Omega Supreme will save Autobots."

_Thank you, Primus._ Prowl lost his grip on consciousness, the world snapping out abruptly.

oOoOo

When Prime emerged from the space bridge, he found Jazz and Bumblebee waiting for him, both frowning. This could not be good, he decided.

"Head on back," he told Ironhide, Inferno, and Powerglide.

"Sure thing, Prime," Ironhide drawled.

Bumblebee stepped forward. "Welcome back, sir." His usual smile remained absent, though, and without further comment he transformed and joined the others as they left.

Jazz watched them go, then turned back to Prime and spoke without further ado. "That was unusually reckless of ya, sir."

Prime stared at him, shocked. He expected Prowl to censure him, and to a certain extent would submit to such given that they were each other's checks and balances, but for Jazz to do so was unheard of. "Jazz?"

"Prowler thought ya were dead. We all did until Ironhide sent us the quick sitrep from Cybertron." Jazz crossed his arms. "And we've been through the Pit, sir."

With the excitement over, Prime felt a surge of pure guilt. He really _had_ acted irresponsibly, ridiculously so, and would deserve Prowl's dressing down. But what concerned him most was that Prowl had to have been crushed with both stress and grief. He noticed that Prowl had not come out to meet him. "Is Prowl all right?"

"No." Jazz's frown grew more pronounced, and his engine growled.

Prime started to inquire why only to realize with a pulse of horror that something much worse could have happened. "While I was gone, did Megatron attack?"

Jazz canted his head to the side and lifted his nose up into the air a bit. "Yep. Ol' Megs showed up and said ya were dead, that ya died trying to save Elita. At first, we refused to believe 'im, and Prowl rallied us and fought off the 'Cons like Unicron was actually real and contained in Megatron's spark."

"Primus!" Optimus wasn't sure what to react to first. "I - how many casualties?"

"Eight severe. Nineteen minor. No fatalities. Ratchet, Hoist, Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Sparkplug are almost done with the repairs." Jazz shifted his crossed arms, pulling them tight against his chest, and transferred most of his weight to his right leg, pushing his hip out slightly in the process. He was a picture of pure attitude even though his tone was stiff and respectful. "Minor damage to Mt. St. Hilary, none to the _Ark_ itself. Prowl's sheer horror, which he channeled into pure determination, kept us strong."

Optimus began feeling even more worried for Prowl and desperately wanted to return to him, to apologize to him and hold him tight. Assuming Prowl wasn't so angry that wouldn't let him touch him. "Prowl himself?"

"Badly injured." Jazz's visor flashed bright, almost white, and he tapped his foot against the hard-packed sand in a show of irritation. "Megatron ripped off one of his doorwings, and he took a beatin' durin' the battle." He frowned at Prime. "He called out for ya durin' the repairs. Ratchet was havin' trouble keepin' him offline due to some scrambled circuits."

The entire universe seemed to implode in Prime's spark, sending fire racing through his circuits. _Oh, Primus!_ he thought, the guilt lancing through his tank. He shouldn't have run off like that! He should have returned more quickly. He needed to finish up this conversation and go to him immediately. "Thank you for the briefing. Is Prowl all right?"

"Ratchet repaired him," Jazz dropped his arms and clenched his fits. "But he's _not_ okay. Not after watchin' footage of ya panickin' over Elita and rushin' away without a word, then fightin' a huge battle on top of it. He's not okay at all."

Without even replying, Prime transformed and took off across the desert. He had to get to Prowl _now._

oOoOo

Prowl recognized those footsteps coming down the hallway. No one had the same weight or gait as Prime. But instead of its invoking happiness, as it had for so many orns now, it invoked fear. Since he knew Jazz would have given Optimus a sitrep, he could only assume that Prime's quick arrival at his office meant one thing, and he carefully bled his face of all emotion, locked down his body language, and upped the gain on his logic circuits. Anything that could get him through this with the least amount of pain and humiliation. He'd suffered enough of both those things at Sentinel's hands. He hit the button to allow Prime in and remained standing on the opposite side of his desk, carefully sorting reports. _Be professional and mature,_ he ordered himself. _Don't be one of those pathetic clingy types like Sentinel._ "Sir," he acknowledged, his tone amazingly normal. It could have been any other orn. "I'm glad to see you alive. I assume your mission went well."

Optimus crossed the office and started to reach for him, only to stiffen at Prowl's professional tone and drop his arms. "Primus, Prowl! Are you all right?" He retracted his battle mask, revealing his concerned expression. "Jazz said you'd been badly injured."

"I've been repaired." Prowl definitely couldn't say he was all right, however. His world felt like it was ending, and his back still ached from the reattachment of his doorwing.

Optimus paused, clearly uncomfortable. "I realize you must be angry at me for acting so recklessly, especially since Megatron made you all believe I was dead." He clasped his hands behind his back. "I admit I was criminally impulsive, and I ask your forgiveness. Granted, I do not regret saving Elita's life, but I very deeply regret leaving you all open to attack and making you face the Decepticons without me. It was an egregious error and a flagrant act of irresponsibility on my part."

Prowl stared at Prime, waiting through the apology for the evitable. "That's true, but you know I would never call for a tribunal." _Don't fall apart,_ he ordered himself. "I - that is, it's good to hear Elita One is alive. And of course you rushed to save her." He supposed he didn't have to spell out the implications of that. He glanced away, afraid of what Prime might say, and accidentally knocked over an entire stack of datapads. He stared at them without reacting when they crashed to the floor and bounced across the deck plates. The screen of the pad holding the energy report cracked. The sound seemed unnaturally loud.

Optimus had been staring at Prowl, but the clatter of datapads drew his attention. He moved over and picked them up, placing them on the desk. He gazed at them as he spoke. "It's true that I would never abandon Elita."

Prowl flinched.

"And I had to take some above and beyond measures to save her life," Optimus continued. He glanced up at Prowl and tentatively reached out to run his fingers down Prowl's cheek. "But I was concerned for you as well. Needless to say, if I had it to do over, I would handle it much differently." He paused. "However, I'm not sure that's the issue at the moment. Based on something Jazz said, if I had to guess, I would say that you think I still love Elita." He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Prowl's chevron. "I don't love her that way anymore. I have fallen in love with _you._" He pulled back to gaze into Prowl's optics.

Every bit of Prowl's control broke, down to the tiniest shard. He twisted away, curling in on himself in the process, and made a sound somewhere between choking and sobbing. "Optimus!" He sounded like he were drowning, and in a sense he was. He didn't see how it could possibly be true, but he also knew Prime wouldn't lie to him. The sudden relief, the release of fear and pain, mixed with his stress and physical exhaustion from the battle. The rush of emotion was so sharp he spilled all his thoughts. "But you had grieved her so very much and loved her so long!" His voice shredded. "And then she was alive, and you rushed after her without a word to anyone." It had seemed too obvious. "You were with her for millions of stellar cycles." He'd been so sure it was over for him. He wrapped his arms around himself, flattened his doorwings to his back, and sat on his desk, putting his feet on the chair and curling forward toward his legs. It was as though he had to hold himself together physically in order not to shatter emotionally.

Optimus reached out to grab hold of Prowl but stopped just shy, letting one hand rest lightly on a black forearm. "I still care about her deeply, as siblings might care for one another." His voice was calm, almost too quiet. "It's nothing more than that, which is fortunate since I learned that Alpha Trion was the one to completely rebuild us both. To a certain extent, we are now brother and sister. But she risked herself to save us, and so I risked myself to save her in return because of that close tie I share with her."

"Brother and sister?" Prowl whispered, dumbstruck. He relaxed as his logic circuits slowly caught up with the information influx. Reality was so different than what he had assumed that he couldn't process it all immediately.

"Yes." Prime's optics dimmed, and he dropped his gaze to where his hand rested against Prowl's arm. "Elita and I talked after the incident and admitted we'd both moved on." He inhaled deeply through his intakes, his tone positively pained. "Prowl, you know I'm willing to give you the time you need to heal, but I admit I'm surprised at how quickly you assumed I'd tossed you aside. Don't you trust me? Please, believe what I tell you. _Know_ how much I love you. I would never say something like that lightly. I mean those words with all my spark." He gently squeezed Prowl's arm. "From the moment I knew Elita was fine, my one consuming thought was to get back here to you. And that's the truth." He pulled his hand back and rested it against the center of his chest over his spark, as though he were hurting there.

Prowl's relief was torn from him in a lightning bolt of pain at Prime's accusation that he didn't trust him. So many emotions swelled in him at once that he could hardly identify them all: pain, fear, anger, love, loss, and guilt. He grabbed them all mercilessly, tightening his control on himself brutally, and uncoiled his body. He wouldn't look Prime in the optics. This was too much. After all he'd experienced that orn, this was too, too much. "I did not mean to imply I didn't believe you." He stood slowly, beginning to sort the stack of datapads that had fallen. He had to keep his hands busy, or he feared he truly would shatter. "I do trust you more than you realize. If I did not, I would not have begun this relationship with you, much less touched you or let you overload me." He still wasn't sure if that had been wise. Past experiences weighed heavily on him. "More or less, I was trying to explain the course of my thoughts, which was logical, although, as it turns out, misinformed." He grabbed two datapads that could be filed and turned to his shelves. "It is true that I am wounded. Very deeply wounded. My confidence is low in this area." Given how many times he'd been thrown away by those he loved, his confidence had been whittled down to nothing. Prowl turned to stare at Optimus listlessly. "This has never been easy for me."

"Then trust is something it seems I must earn from you still." Prime lowered his gaze to the desk, frowning. "I realize I just shook your faith in me professionally by being so reckless, and once again, I apologize. But I hope that on a personal level you place more faith in our relationship. I'm a bit taken off guard, I suppose, but I'll gladly carry any weight to protect and care for those around me. Especially those who matter most to me." Optimus walked over to Prowl and put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Please remember that. And please remember that I never want to hurt you, Prowl. Not ever." He stepped back and let his hand fall back to his side.

Prowl felt an odd burning sensation in his chest, and his hands shook slightly. Prime had completely missed the point. He tried to calm himself, though, and raised an optic ridge. "Is it really a matter of trust? Consider for a moment . . . well, it's a bizarre example, but consider it: What if you had watched me be lovers with Sentinel Prime for millions of stellar cycles, and then he died. You watched me grieve him, and then suddenly, miraculously, it turned out he were alive. You watched me rush off to save him. Would you not assume my feelings for him had never completely died? Would you not wonder if my feelings for him would come into conflict with my feelings for you? Would it not worry you until you were sure I chose you over him? Is that not simply normal?" _Am I not allowed to be mortal? Must I truly be perfect after all?_ He shook his head. "I accepted your explanation. I am not doubting you now." _I guess that wasn't good enough. I was never good enough for anyone, not my creators and not my lovers._ "And do you truly think I would allow someone to touch me intimately and overload me if I held no trust for him? Because I assure you I would not." _You had not hurt me. Until now. _

Prime's engine revved sharply. "You don't think my love for you is stronger than my past? In your proposed scenario, I would feel threatened if your past lover were alive, but I also would hold fast to the trust I placed in you." He reached up and squeezed Prowl's arm. "I can see why you were concerned, but in the end, this is a matter of trust between us."

Prowl stared at him in utter shock. _I'm being punished for being hurt?_ "Between us?" _It's like what Sentinel used to say – that I didn't trust him and he couldn't make me do so. Not Optimus, too. No, Primus, please no._ He turned his gaze to the floor, staring at it until it didn't seem real and scuff marks seemed to rise above the orange deck plates. "I admit I'm a complex mech. I admit I'm a wounded mech." The implications of the entire conversation gelled in his mind, and he frowned. "Love is trust. Do you think I lied when I said I love you?" He shook his head, the pain stinging his spark. "I am sorry I am not as strong as you. I did not wish to ever hurt you, but it seems I have anyway." _I am always the one to blame._ "I am sorry." The pain was so severe Prowl wondered for a moment if he would purge. It reminded him of all his arguments with Sentinel. He lifted his hand to his lips, but the burn in his tank did not move upward. Instead, tears sprang to his optics as both his processor and his entire chassis began to overheat.

"I'm not saying you lied about anything. That's a misperception based on past experiences." Prime dropped his hand, which was trembling, and opened his mouth to speak again.

Prowl flinched at the words, and the pain of the entire conversation overwhelmed him. "_Why?_" he interrupted. "I told you my wounds; I told you I needed your patience. I thought you understood, and it took all the courage I had to get this far. This is who I am. If it isn't good enough for you, then there is nothing more I can do. I can't make my wounds disappear!" He turned and raced from his office, fleeing blindly.

He ran into Jazz and knocked him down, but he didn't even stop to apologize. He ran to his quarters, locked himself in, and killed all the comms. In the silence and darkness of his quarters, he wept, alone once more. Not good enough once more. Rejected once more. Punished for being hurt once more.

He had been right after all: nothing ever changed.


	10. Signifying Nothing

_A/N: References "The Search for Alpha Trion" and sides with it over "War Dawn" on continuity errors. I am, however, certainly keeping the detail that Cybertron had a sun and therefore a daytime prior to the war._

_Thank you to the following wonderful reviewers: Twilight Heart09, Felina Fullstop, steelcrash, Aya-Chan, Imbrium, sphinx01, Kurichi-chan, Joyeu, Yami-Yugi3, Shizuka Taiyou, Hikarigirl18, reaper mendez, Carmilla DeWinter, Kaede Akira, optimus prime 007, renegadewriter8, OrianPrime92, and Transformers101. Love you guys!_

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_**Chapter 10: Signifying Nothing**_

Optimus stared at the doorway Prowl had run through, stunned and in so much pain his processor could barely function. Prowl's parting words ran in his memory banks, and his look of utter devastation tore at Prime's spark. Primus, what had gone wrong now? Should he follow Prowl? Try to fix it? He wasn't sure where to begin. He hadn't meant to hurt Prowl, but it had hurt _him_ to think Prowl didn't trust him, especially since he loved Prowl with all his spark. And he'd never expected that Prowl, who was always so logical both in his professional and personal lives, would have reacted so emotionally.

He realized he'd gravely miscalculated.

Jazz hurdled through the doorway, a wide scuff mark across his grille, and propped his hands on his hips. His visor flared bright, nearly white. "What the _frag_ was _that_? I expected ya to come here and alleviate Prowl's fears, not send him runnin' down the slaggin' hallway!"

Optimus tried to straighten his posture, to look more confident and in control than he was. "That's between Prowl and me." Even though Jazz was friends with them both, Prime wanted to maintain some privacy.

"Yeah, I know." Jazz hit the door pad, making the door shut. "But let's get real here. Anythin' that upsets my best friend that much is my business."

"You're bordering on insubordination, Jazz." Optimus really did not want to discuss this mess with anyone. The last thing he wanted to do was parade around his mistakes or somehow make the situation worse.

Jazz clenched his fists brutally hard, as though it took all his willpower not to walk up and punch him. "Don't pull rank on me, _sir._ I'm yer friend, too, and this isn't about ya blowin' all the regulations and skippin' out on us. This is about Prowl terrified out of his mind all orn and knockin' me down in the hallway tryin' to flee just now. This is about yer hurtin' Prowl, and then apparently hurtin' him yet again on top of it!"

Optimus couldn't exactly deny he'd been grossly negligent, and given the situation, he realized he wasn't going to get out of discussing the problem with Jazz unless he wanted to permanently damage their friendship. "I assure you that was not the reaction I intended to elicit. In fact, I'm not entirely sure what went wrong." Jazz's words made him feel defensive, and he was in agony. Prowl's assumption that he'd callously ditch him for his past girlfriend had been a slap in the face.

"Ya mean other than runnin' to Elita, _sir_?" Jazz growled.

Prime felt a flash of irritation at his tone, but one of Jazz's strongest traits was defending his friends. Optimus hardly felt surprised at his behavior. "I loved her for ten million stellar cycles, counting our time in stasis, and then I found out she was alive but in mortal danger. How could I not want to save her?" He sighed deeply. "As if I could stand there and let Megatron or his mechs kill her." _Besides, I'm as flawed as everyone else. As much as I'd like to be, I can't be perfect._ But even as he struggled to defend himself, the guilt intensified. He had never wanted to hurt Prowl, on purpose or by accident.

Jazz slapped his forehead in exasperation and then rubbed his helm as though he were getting a processor ache. "I get that. I do. But didn't ya stop to consider how Prowl might feel? Why didn't ya comm. him immediately and get his tactical advice? At least, professionally speakin', tell him where ya were goin'? Besides, yer in a relationship. That makes ya a unit."

"I -" Prime stopped abruptly, realizing that he had totally blown it. Jazz was right: he should have immediately thought to tell Prowl, solicit his advice, keep him in the loop. More than keeping Prowl from worrying while he was gone, it was a matter of respect as his lover.

Optimus pressed his fingers to his temples, his processor beginning to overheat. "You're right." He sighed out his vents, trying to formulate a plan to fix his blunder, and to do that he needed to know something first. "Tell me one thing, though. I don't understand why he was so sure I had dumped him. I love him. I was so sure he knew that. Does he not trust me?" Optimus had been taken off guard by how much that hurt. _It was like a punch in the spark for him to assume I'd be so unfeeling and insensitive as to toss him casually aside._

Jazz stared at him, his visor surging white before dimming back to normal. "Yer kiddin' me, right? Ya _didn't_ say that to him."

Prime returned the stare. "Jazz, he automatically assumed I didn't love him anymore." _ It was like my emotions are meaningless! Is my love so weak and ineffectual?_

Jazz whirled around and put his fist directly into wall, the metal groaning as it dented. His engine growled, and for several kliks, he said nothing. Then, without turning around, he spoke deadly quietly. "Ya need to see the security footage of yerself. Prowl's conclusion was, for lack of a better word, logical."

Optimus frowned, trying to remember what he had said and done. The entire incident on the Command Deck was overlaid with a sheen of fear and desperation. "I've been his friend for millions of stellar cycles, and I certainly haven't mistreated him while dating him," he said, trying to understand. "I had hoped I would have earned his trust by now, that -" He paused, struck suddenly by how all the pieces fit together. His running off without telling Prowl had truly instigated the entire incident. If his actions didn't show Prowl that he considered them a partnership on both the professional and personal levels, then how could he expect Prowl to trust him?

"It's not that simple." Jazz finally turned to face him, a pronounced frown marring his face. "Prowl's used to being betrayed by those he trusts: his creators, his lovers, even his friends. I have no doubt he does actually trust ya. He was just sayin' to me how much hope he had for yer relationship before this happened."

Prime felt like a boulder had been dropped into his tank. Had he really be so close to winning Prowl's full trust only to destroy it?

"But," Jazz continued, "he's invested time and care and love into 'bots for long periods of time justa have them turn on him or abuse him in the end." He shook his head. "He probably hasn't even gotten around to tellin' ya all the stories. I suggest ya ask. It'll help ya understand."

Given how many mechs had apparently hurt Prowl, Optimus began to fear that he would never fully gain his trust, especially now. "Oh." It seemed such a counterpoint to Prowl's drunken confession that he trusted Prime more than anyone else. It also clearly wasn't true: Jazz was the one Prowl trusted the most, it seemed, and now he had reason to trust Jazz more. That thought stung.

Jazz rubbed his nose with his fingers in a gesture of stress. "Hey, it took him an entire _vorn_ to give himself completely to a friendship with me. I had to wait through several stages of his fear and prove myself an exception to all the patterns and 'rules' of his life. I'm sure most 'bots would have given up and ditched him, but I judged his friendship worth the havin'." He met Prime's gaze. "He's been yer friend for nearly as long as he's been mine. Changin' that to bondmate will take some real effort on both yer parts. The question is do ya consider Prowl worth it?"

"Of course he is." Prime wasn't sure why Jazz was even asking him such a question.

"Ya sure? I told ya from the beginnin' that if ya weren't up to this to break it off early." Jazz crossed his arms.

Prime shook his head. "I never said I was giving up."

"Good." Jazz's shoulders suddenly slumped. "Look," he sighed, "I get that feeling like yer not trusted can hurt. When ya know ya'd never hurt someone and they don't seem to believe it . . . when ya really care deeply for someone and it seems somewhat one-sided because they don't trust ya . . . it hurts. Ya want to ask _why._ Have ya not proven yerself? Can't they see _you_ for _you_?"

"Exactly." Prime frowned to himself. _So Jazz gets it after all?_

"What I realized was this: it's not about _you._" Jazz straightened his shoulders again. "It's about ya in the sense that _you_ have to overcome Prowl's wounds, but what he's caught on is the past. His hang up isn't personal to ya, so don't take it personally." He turned to the door, triggering it open. "He, on the other hand, has every reason to take what happened today personally. If ya love him, then yer buildin' a life together, right? So why didn't ya even think to comm. him?" He stomped out of the office.

Prime stared after him, horrified into speechlessness. He'd truly botched the situation as both a commander and a lover, and now Prowl was badly hurt. As a mech of action, one who always generated plans and solved problems, Prime wanted to immediately work to resolve the issue.

But as of yet, he no idea how to fix it.

oOoOo

Prowl lay on his berth unmoving. Sometime during his fitful recharge, he had rolled onto his back, and now he stared aimlessly at the cracked, orange ceiling. He was overdue for his shift by three breems, but he had reached a state of zero motivation. He couldn't even sit up. He suspected Jazz would override his door lock again and check on him soon. He didn't care about that, either. His newest experience had dug up old ghosts, wounds that reached across time to strike the present, moaning pitifully in the corners of his processor. It truly seemed nothing had changed. It seemed he could never be quite good enough, quite _right_, to be the kind of mech 'bots wanted to keep. Always something was wrong with him. Someone else was better.

Primus, it was like everything he did in his life outside of work meant nothing. In every relationship he had or tried to have, he was ultimately cast aside for not being good enough or in favor of the next best thing. Despite the fact he had always given freely of himself, what he shared was ultimately rejected or abused. He had thought he'd finally found someone different, someone trustworthy. Someone who would honor who he was and what he had to offer. In the face of Prime's censure of his fears and uncertainties, life suddenly looked remarkably meaningless.

In the end, Jazz was the only one who had not betrayed him, and had he not supported Prowl through his rape recovery, Prowl probably would have taken longer to trust him fully. After all, Prowl had once had a friend, Nosedive, who'd been like a brother to him for ten vorns, only for Nosedive to cast him aside. Prowl shut off his optics and wrapped his arms around himself. He felt chilled down to his spark, and he wondered if he would ever feel warm again.

Had he not learned this lesson long ago? What was he _thinking?_ He knew better than to entertain such hopes.

"I'm a fool," he hissed to himself, his memories battering him viciously.

-o-  
_  
Prowl strolled slowly down the sidewalks of Praxus, a cube of spiced energon in hand. The evening was stretching late, the crimson sky bleeding into a blanket of twinkling stars, and younglings raced past him on side streets in playful races. Their laughter and revving engines reminded him of happier orns when he was a carefree sparkling. Before being sent to military school, he also had raced in the streets with his friends. Afterward, at the Autobot Academy, he had managed to befriend the youngest cadet there other than himself: Nosedive, who was only four vorns older than Prowl._

_What had sealed their friendship during their academy orns had been Nosedive's love of philosophy and psychology. They ended up sharing a dorm room and would stay up past curfew in long discussions about the meaning of life or the mental disorders of their fellow cadets. They would pick apart their creators' fragged up behavior and work each other through wounds they'd taken at their creators' hands. It had been an incredible bonding experience, and they'd come to love each other as brothers. Now that they were both Enforcers, every orn after work, Prowl and Nosedive dropped by the nearest café, Techno, and shared spiced energon or occasionally high-grade while de-stressing and discussing the orn's stupidest 'emergencies.'_

_Prowl sighed. He would do almost _anything_ for Nosedive, _had_ done almost anything, no matter how much recharge he lost or how exhausted he became or how emotionally rundown he was. He and Nosedive stood by each other no matter what. Their friendship had proven fast for ten vorns now. _Had.

_With another, louder sigh, Prowl ditched his empty energon cube in a recycle bin on the street corner and stared up at Apartment Row: twenty towering skyscrapers of fifty floors a piece, all identical. He and Nosedive both lived here, although they hadn't been able to get into the same building. Normally Prowl made the walk home with Nosedive. They would talk about anything: their stupid matchmakers, their creators' antics, their commander's stunning insanity, how Primus answered prayers . . . it didn't really matter._

_Today Prowl had made the walk alone._

_He had the orn before, too. And the orn before that. And the orn before that, too. For fifteen decaorns now, Nosedive had randomly stood him up, in a manner of speaking, until it had devolved into Prowl only passing Nosedive in the station's hallways and sharing a brief word. Nosedive had actually fallen in love with the matchmaker's most recent offering, Whirl._

_It had begun with the standard one date per decaorn in the Crystal Gardens. Prowl had wished him luck, still stinging over having fallen for Lightwing only to be secretly replaced. When things had gone well with Whirl, Prowl had been happy for Nosedive. Even when Nosedive and Whirl had begun meeting after work a few orns a decaorn, Prowl had been glad for them. But when Nosedive had promised Prowl he'd spend the afternoon with him instead and then not shown, Prowl had not been so happy._

_Steeling himself, Prowl turned the corner and started down the street toward tower five. The buildings of Apartment Row cut out the sunset, casting walkers into premature darkness. The street was situated perfectly northwest, which meant the evening breeze became a sharp, cutting wind. Other lonely walkers rushed past him, not even raising their heads, but the street was always jammed with so much traffic Prowl never bothered to navigate the area in his alt mode._

_Running footsteps registered on Prowl's audios, and he glanced over his shoulder to see the bright yellow and green of Nosedive's paint. He halted in his tracks, but the surprise Prowl should have felt was patently absent. His co-workers had noted lately that Prowl seemed to be growing expressionless, and they'd worried over him, wondering if he were depressed. He suspected he was, but he also didn't care. He'd had bouts of depression since his creators abandoned him at the Academy. In a disturbing way, the depression felt normal._

_"Prowl!" Nosedive was waving one hand, trying to flag him down. "Hey!" He stumbled up to him, all smiles. "Sorry, sorry, my mech. Whirl kinda had me – what's a good word for it? – distracted in his office." He laughed._

_Prowl wasn't amused. "That's okay." _No, it's not, but whatever.

_"How's my mech doing today?" Nosedive started walking with him. "You make progress on that murder case down in skid row yet?"_

_Prowl wondered how he was supposed to act normal. "No. The femme who was supposed to come by the station today and give us her statement didn't show."_

_"Ah, that bites bits." Nosedive bounced on his feet. "Guess what, guess what? Whirl is taking me to – what's that place called? – The Helix Gardens. Pretty ritzy, huh? We're leaving tomorrow, and we'll be gone for five orns. We're gonna do some skydiving before we come back, too. Exciting, huh?"_

_"Sure," Prowl replied, his tone flat. It was irritating, really. He'd put in for leave four decaorns earlier just to have three orns to escape the city, and it had yet to be approved. Now Whirl and Nosedive secured five orns on short notice? "I guess Whirl cashed in one of his favors with the commander."_

_Nosedive laughed. "Awesome, huh? I get a wonderful mech, and I get a wonderful mech with _connections._"_

_Prowl felt more like disconnecting his audios so he didn't have to listen to the bragging. "Must be nice," he said, tone still flat and without inflection._

_"Hey, my mech." Nosedive halted abruptly. "What's up with you? For a decaorn now you've been all – what's the word? – listless. You depressed again?"_

_Prowl halted as well and turned to face Nosedive. He had learned at an early age to never show anger, disappointment, or fear around his creators, and that lesson had carried over into the rest of his life as an amazing ability to control all his emotions. His stoicism failed him now, though. "Well, I don't know, Nosedive. Maybe it has something to do with the way you've been blowing me off repeatedly. Maybe it has something to do with the fact you never have time for me anymore but you _create_ extra time for Whirl by hiding in his office while on duty and making out. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that for the last four decaorns, I haven't been able to hang out with you for longer than a breem at the hot energon dispenser at work. I get that you need time to build your relationship with Whirl, but holy Primus, Nosedive! Does that really mean ditching me on my aft?"_

_Nosedive stared at him, his optics burning twice as bright as normal and his lips parted in shock. It was the first time Prowl had raised his voice to his friend. "I - but - I don't mean to. But you're right. I do need time with Whirl right now." He frowned, crossing his arms. "It won't always be this way, you know. We'll still have time for each other, and I thought we were good enough friends for you to have faith in that."_

_Prowl stared at him, furious with the accusation. "The Nosedive I know would have never stood up a friend once, much less dozens of times." _You've changed since Whirl came into your life. What can I trust in?

_"You know, I never thought that you'd be – what's the word for it? – unsupportive. Immature." Nosedive threw up his arms. "Don't you see this is a good thing for me? This is the happiest I've ever been in my life. Whirl is good for me. He nurtures me, brings excitement into my life, fills my needs, and loves me. I'm going to build a life with him, you know. Share a life with him. You're my friend, my brother, and you'll always be that. But you can't do any of those kinds for me or with me. We've shared a lot, sure, but I ultimately need to share those things with a bondmate. Why can't you support my happiness?"_

And me?_ Prowl thought, flinching at the angry words and harsh truths. _What about things that make me happy? What about the deep friendship we shared? You can't have a close friend and a bondmate both?_ "I have never cared about anyone's happiness more than yours." _I have done everything in my power to love you and support you as a brother and friend.

_"Well, then prove it and quit being so selfish!" Nosedive turned and stomped away, leaving Prowl alone in the street._

Selfish?_ he wondered, his spark aching and burning in his chest as though it were being compressed and crushed. _I sacrificed countless orns of recharge to help you through crises, drained out every drop of emotional energy in my frame to pull you through traumas, shared everything in my life with you except interfacing, and now I'm selfish for wanting more than a passing word in the office? For wanting some part of your time?

_Prowl stared after Nosedive, watching the yellow and green paint be swallowed by the night, and wondered what it would take for him to actually be loved by someone – as a creation, as a friend, or as a bondmate – and loved enough to actually be _kept._ He wasn't sure why, but a pattern had settled over his life. He seemed to always be watching mechs' backs as they walked away.  
_  
-o-

Prowl groaned in pain and rolled over to face the wall, curling in on himself at the painful memories. He still didn't understand why having a bondmate meant getting rid of all one's friends, or in this case, relegating said friends to shallow conversations at the hot energon dispenser at work. He knew, though, it wasn't uncommon, which is why he'd been terrified when Jazz had bonded to Mirage. Fortunately, that little change had a happy ending. Prowl had thought he might get two happy endings and end up with a loving bondmate of his own. Someone who would cherish him, respect him, treat him equally, and -

Prowl sat up abruptly, realizing exactly why he was so upset. It was more than the fear he'd been tossed aside again. It was the _betrayal._ Nosedive's actions had told him he wasn't special anymore, wasn't even wanted, really. Prime's actions had said he considered Elita more important. Growling, Prowl clenched his fists. The situation seemed all too familiar.

A faint sizzling sound drew his attention to his door. No doubt Jazz had just overridden his door lock again, and this time apparently fired a circuit or wire in the process. Sure enough, the door swooshed open, and Jazz swept into the room on silent feet. He halted abruptly when he saw Prowl awake and sitting up, though.

"Prowler," he said softly, leaving the doorway so the door would close and crossing the room to sit on the berth by him.

"I just realized why I'm so upset," Prowl said, staring at his hands. The first time Jazz had checked on him, shortly after his argument with Prime, Prowl hadn't been able to communicate all his jumbled feelings

Jazz took one of his hands and held it between both his own. "Well, I figure there are a lot of reasons yer mad. But what's on yer mind?"

Prowl looked up, noting the way Jazz's visor was dimmed in sympathy. "He didn't think to talk to me before rushing off. Not as his SIC and not as his lover. What conclusion could I have possibly drawn other than I no longer mattered to him? He acted unilaterally instead of like we were a couple."

"To be fair, when mechs panic they don't think clearly," Jazz replied quietly. "But ya know I believe decisions like that need to be made together. Once yer a couple, ya need to seek and listen to the other's input, advice, and opinions. It can't be a one 'bot show for either mech. If it is, then ya missed the whole point of bein' a couple. It ain't just a social arrangement for interfacin' and raisin' sparklings. It's a state of mind, a whole way of approachin' problems and issues. Ya band together to face the universe."

Prowl frowned to himself, slowly processing the words. He'd been watching Jazz and Mirage together and had drawn similar conclusions. But hearing the philosophy spoken aloud underscored the truth of it for him and also pointed out to him just how much that wasn't what he'd seen with his own creators. Opinions hadn't always been sought, and often one or the other's feelings had been disregarded. Equal effort had not been given by both mechs to keep the household running or their lives working smoothly. Responsibility had been unbalanced, leaving one mech overworked and frustrated while the other had grown callous and resentful of the complaints. Even when they had agreed on things, like the decision to send Prowl to the academy, Stingray had been the one to take him instead of their both accompanying him. "I see." And he did, finally.

"I'm not sure what Optimus will do," Jazz said, squeezing Prowl's hand. "For what it's worth, I think he still loves ya. I don't think that was ever in question."

Prowl sighed out his vents. "Then why hasn't he come to talk to me yet? It's been eight joors now." Not that he was looking forward to that conversation. He had no idea what he'd say or do, and he still feared that Prime now loved him less thanks to their fight.

"I dunno." Jazz canted his head to the side. "But I think the better question is 'what now?'" He gave him a small smile. "I know ya, Prowl. Ya don't give mech a second chance to hurt ya. Ya raise all yer defenses, get distant, and shut them out."

Unable to argue that point, Prowl nodded. "I know." He didn't give his trust easily and didn't react well to having it violated.

"But if he asks yer forgiveness, will ya give it to him?" Jazz's little smile turned sad. "If he's truly sorry, will ya let him earn back yer trust? Are ya willin' to take that chance?"

Prowl stared at Jazz, realizing that his question really was the pertinent one. Everyone made mistakes. Being mortal beings in a relationship meant that hurting each other was unavoidable. Was this the kind of mistake that was so severe he had to withdraw completely and protect himself? Or was this the kind that they could recover from? And where did love fit in that picture?

Although it was important that he never let himself be abused again, Prowl suspected there was something more to being loveless than lacking respect and common courtesy for a lover. What would it mean if he refused to forgive Optimus?

oOoOo

The guilt was crushing.

Optimus Prime sat in the darkness of his quarters, all the lights turned off, the only illumination coming from his computer screen and his own optics. His berth was a dark, indistinct mass in the corner, and shadows roiled in the room's corners. Turning away from his computer, he propped his elbows on his desk and sank his face in his hands. He'd written up his mission report and read the battle report while trying to figure out how to handle the situation with Prowl, but he was no closer to an answer now than before.

Even as Orion Pax, Prime had considered trust to be the most important element of any relationship. He'd known by watching his creators' loving bondship that trust, respect, and communication were the three most important components to any relationship, so he placed his trust in those he cared about – even if sometimes they proved to not deserve it – and he prided himself on being trustworthy. If others failed him, he always forgave them, and unless it were foolhardy to do so, allowed them to prove themselves again. And never betraying a friend or lover was a core value of his own.

Once he became Optimus Prime, that requirement to be someone his mechs could put absolute trust and faith into became paramount. But now he had failed them by running off half-cocked without thinking the situation through or making responsible choices. As a result, they'd been attacked and hurt. The guilt from that alone bore down on his shoulders so severely he couldn't seem to straighten his posture. His crew had already forgiven him, but Prime's two flaws, he knew, were being overly idealistic and overly self-punishing. Others' forgiveness, although a relief, was ultimately meaningless because he couldn't forgive himself.

But as much as that error galled him, what hurt more was the fact he'd betrayed Prowl's trust. The mech he loved most of all was the one he'd run off on, leaving him to worry and feel worthless. And then, when he'd returned, he'd managed to make the situation worse. The guilt of that burned through every line in his frame.

And what was more was that he realized now why all of it had occurred. It was tied to why he and Elita had never bonded.

Orion Pax and Ariel had felt too young to bond before they were reformatted, but as time passed, they'd remained too independent to bond. Being headstrong leaders in the war against the Decepticons, they had become too used to making decisions alone. They functioned well as a command team, granted, but in their personal lives they didn't think or act like a couple. They loved each other, supported each other, and brightened each other's dark orns, but they weren't partners trying to build a life together. And seeing nothing wrong with it since it was working for them, they'd never considered that there was another way.

Suddenly, it was all so clear. Professionally, Prime relied on his command team. Even though he was ultimately in control, it was foolish and suicidal to ignore his SIC and head tactician's input when going into battle. Everyone he surrounded himself with – chiefs of special operations, medical, security, engineering, and communications – existed to advise him, to be good at what he wasn't, to balance out his weaknesses, and to make their army as strong as possible. Cutting them out created imbalance. Ignoring their input meant courting disaster. And, Optimus realized, a similar thing was true in a relationship. He now formed a personal unit with Prowl, and upholding that dynamic was central to their success as a couple.

Prime rubbed his temples, his processor aching again. It was good to know, but what did he _do_ with it now?

He couldn't think of anything more than going to Prowl, apologizing a dozen times, and explaining what he'd learned. Mind made up, Optimus stood and forced himself to straighten his shoulders. Somehow he would make this right again. He loved Prowl too much to ever give up. Sweeping out of his quarters, Prime strode down the hall and around the corner to Prowl's quarters. He buzzed the door and prayed that Prowl would allow him in.

"Who is it?" came Prowl's weary voice from the door's comm.

"Me." Prime nearly ached to hold Prowl in his arms. "I've come to apologize."

Silence met this announcement, then the door hissed open. Optimus entered, and as the door closed behind him, he caught sight of Prowl standing near his berth. Jazz had taken Prowl's shift, and Optimus suspected Prowl had been on his berth the entire time. Prowl's face was completely expressionless, but his doorwings were flat on his back, which indicated depression, exhaustion, or perhaps both.

"I'm not entirely sure how our conversation got so out of control," Prime said without further ado. "But I do realize that my own actions caused you to doubt me. If I'd been considerate and talked to you right away instead of rushing off, you wouldn't have been afraid." His voice grew tight with his guilt and pain. "What I did damaged your trust in me. I fully see now why you assumed what you did – I didn't give you a reason to believe otherwise. I want you to believe in our love, and I will do whatever it takes to help you feel safe with me again. All I can ask is your forgiveness."

Prowl's optics flared bright, then dimmed again. "I was thrown by your accusation that I didn't trust you. It may not seem like it, but I actually do. But when you rushed off without a word, the conclusion I made seemed logical to me. I thought I wasn't as important to you as she was."

"I'm sorry," Optimus repeated, stepping closer. His chest positively burned from wanting to hold Prowl close to him, to feel Prowl's head resting against his chassis. "I promise that's not true at all. It was a bizarre situation, and I had to figure out what was happening and how to tell her. Fortunately, she had moved on as well and is now bonded."

"Bonded?" Prowl's doorwings jerked slightly. "That's . . . quite a turn of events. She's both bonded and, in a sense, your sister."

Optimus released his mask and gave Prowl a small smile. "Maybe I should say it's fortunate for me that I fell in love with my SIC." He moved within arm's distance of Prowl.

"Apparently," Prowl murmured, stepping back. He watched Prime closely. "The other thing that upset me during our conversation was that you didn't seem to believe what I was saying about having learned to trust you. I had accepted your explanation, but you didn't seem to be accepting mine." He frowned, pausing like he were searching for words. "It was like I'd failed you or disappointed you by not reacting the way you expected."

"What?" Prime's spark lurched when Prowl moved away, silently rebuffing him, and his words confused and deeply troubled him. "No, love, I didn't mean it that way at all."

Prowl stared at the floor. "It seemed like I hadn't quite measured up again, but I've pushed myself as hard as I can."

To a certain extent, Optimus could tell they hadn't truly been communicating, at least not fully. There seemed to be a series of building misunderstandings - a word, phrase, or motive misinterpreted. He stepped forward and took one of Prowl's hands, pressing it to his chest over where his spark pulsed frantically. When Prowl looked up at him, he met his gaze. "There is no 'measuring up.' I have been in love with you long before we interfaced. My spark has been calling for yours. Have you felt it, too? The burning sensation when our chests touch and our sparks draw close? I have never felt this strongly for anyone in my life, Prowl, not even Elita. Please don't fear my feelings for you or think I could mistreat you like Sentinel did." His passion poured out of him, making him tremble slightly as he spoke. "_Primus,_ Prowl, I love you. Don't push me away. _Please._"

Prowl's optics flared bright again, and he began to tremble as well. However, he didn't pull away. "This isn't just about Sentinel, and it's not the past that I fear. The past is dead and gone, no matter how it may rise at times to hurt us. What I fear is the future. How many times have I loved someone only for him to walk away? I loved them - loved them! - but my love was never enough. I was never enough!"

Remembering what Jazz had said about the many wounds Prowl carried, Optimus listened intently, although his spark ached at the sight of Prowl's pain. He had never seen him so upset and impassioned.

Tears of coolant had pooled in Prowl's optics. "What do I have to do to be wanted and _kept_? That is what I always wondered. I gave them everything, sacrificed all my time, all my feelings, my fragging _sanity_, and it was never enough! I never loved them enough, didn't sacrifice for them enough, didn't 'face them enough and when I didn't, when I collapsed, when I couldn't even get out of my berth in the morning, _it was my fault_. I was to blame! I was _selfish_. I didn't _love_ them anymore. I didn't _trust_ them enough. How much more do I have to give? They didn't _love me_. Not really. I nearly killed myself for them, and it wasn't good enough. I wasn't fragging _perfect_ enough!"

"Prowl . . ." Optimus grabbed his other hand and squeezed it. Even knowing how Sentinel had treated Prowl, Optimus had never imagined he was so spark-broken and wounded. _No wonder his confidence is so low in this area,_ he thought, saddened. The rage and anguish poured off Prowl in waves of searing heat and energy, and it was crushing to watch.

Prowl gasped hard, his denta chattering from the force of his emotions. "I know you're not _them_. You'd never be as cruel and abusive as Sentinel. It's not that I think that. But no . . . no, I am not as strong as you. I have been either abandoned or betrayed by everyone who ever claimed to love me. In a situation like this one, I cannot so easily assume I would win in a contest against another's love." The tears escaped to run down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, but I have to be _told_ I'm the winner."

Optimus pulled Prowl into his arms and held him tightly as he pressed soft kisses on his helm. "The wounds you carry are buried deep into your spark and mind," he whispered, "deeper than I even realized." He kissed Prowl's chevron as well. "It's all right, love. Had I been more responsible and courteous, you would have never had a reason to doubt. There's nothing for you to apologize for, and I would do anything to avoid hurting you again. You are precious to me. I love you. _Only _you."

Prowl shuddered in his arms. "I love you as well, and I'm tired of hurting," he whispered, his voice raspy.

Rubbing Prowl's back slowly, Optimus found himself wondering how long it would take to win back Prowl's trust. With the deep gouges in Prowl's spark, Prime suspected his little stunt had shaken Prowl's faith considerably. Perhaps it was best if he were open and honest. "I want to build a life with you. Take our professional dynamic and use it as a model for a strong personal relationship. And, when you are ready to, I also want you to tell me more about each of these 'bots who've hurt you so I can understand how that affects you."

Prowl nodded against his chest. "Sentinel used to accuse me all the time of not trusting him. He would get angry about it and yell until I backed down. But I wasn't the one who didn't trust him; he was the one who didn't trust me. He was always convinced I was cheating on him, or so he said. I think now that he just used the whole thing to manipulate me."

"Oh." Optimus suddenly understood Prowl's reactions during their argument. The implication of what he'd said had hit Prowl in a spot where he had already been beaten senseless. His engine revved as he growled in anger at the thought of what Sentinel had done.

Prowl jerked backwards, looking up at Optimus in clear apprehension. His doorwings arched high on his back in obvious fear.

He thinks I'm mad at him, Prime realized. He's been 'trained' to think it's his fault even though he logically knows it can't be. He released his anger immediately so Prowl could understand its direction. "That fragger! He had no right to make you carry the burden of his insecurities like that."

"Yes, well, he was good at that," Prowl replied quietly, his doorwings lowering.

Optimus pulled him close to his chest again, reveling in the burning sensation that erupted in his spark. Prowl was destined to be his bondmate; he was sure of it. And he would protect him, love him, support him, and believe in him. "We will build this relationship together," he whispered, pressing kisses to Prowl's helm. "Step-by-step, we will move through and past anything in our way."

Prowl relaxed against him, and Prime cherished the feeling of that tacit trust. He would knock planets out of their orbits if that's what it took to build a solid foundation, a strong relationship, and a future loving bondship with Prowl.

Prowl was worth it.


	11. Let's Begin Again

_A/N: I'm not going to bother apologizing for not posting these last two weeks. I've been plagued off and on with rl hell. I hope to get back on track soon._

_This chapter references "The Key to Vector Sigma, Part 1."_

_::comm. link::_

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_**Chapter 11: Let's Begin Again (Begin the Begin)**_

Optimus awakened to the warmth of a body pressed against his own. He slowly became aware of the hum of another's recharging systems, the sweet smell of oil from joints, and the weight against his chest. He onlined his optics slowly and glanced at Prowl curled against his chassis. Prime had his arm wrapped securely around his waist.

Unlike the first time they'd awakened together, no panic or concern arose. Optimus smiled at the recharging form, remembering that they had talked long into the night, Prowl recounting painful stories about his creators, his past lovers, and his ex-friends. A picture had formed in Prime's mind as his processor sorted and stored the influx of data: a sparkling and young mech unappreciated, untouched, and unloved. At this revelation, Prime had been unable to justify leaving Prowl alone for the night. Once Prowl had become too exhausted to continue, Optimus had scooped him up from the couch they'd been occupying and carried him to the berth, where he had held Prowl closely while they'd recharged.

However, Prime had thought at first that his databanks wouldn't be still long enough for him to rest. It was horrifying, disgusting even: Prowl's creators had mapped out his life for him, resented him for having his own personality and desires, and tried to force him into their mold. It was unthinkable to Optimus, whose creators had waited to see what his interests, goals, and dreams were and then supported them. Likewise, all of Prowl's previous lovers had been insensitive or downright cruel, while in Optimus' life, Ariel and later Elita had been kind, supportive, and loving. Even some of Prowl's friends had been thoughtless or had tossed him aside. Optimus had decided that if not for Jazz's friendship, Prowl would have no schema at all for a decent, real relationship of any kind. It was little wonder he and Prowl had experienced such a misunderstanding.

It all made so much more sense now. Terrible, spark-breaking sense. Trust was something Prowl had only been able to build and maintain with Jazz. In a romantic context, Prowl was literally figuring it out as he went.

Prime resolved right then to be unerringly supportive and show Prowl that love could be real, trust could be upheld, and respect could be maintained. Armed with his new knowledge, Optimus would strive to never again make a mistake like the one he'd made.

With a faint groan, Prowl stirred in his arms. Optimus hugged him close, wanting to shower love and affection on him, and pressed a kiss to his helm. "Good morning, love."

Prowl onlined his optics slowly, meeting his gaze. For a moment, likely as he finished rebooting, he didn't respond, then he gave Optimus a small smile. "Good morning."

Feeling oddly pleased with the utterly ordinary, domestic nature of their exchange, Prime allowed himself to imagine being bonded to Prowl and awakening this way every orn. "Thank you for telling me so much last night. I understand you and your reactions much better now."

"You're welcome." Prowl rested one hand on Prime's chestplates, directly over his spark. "To be honest, few have ever bothered to listen. A few times, when I've tried to explain, I've been met with impatience or totally dismissed."

"Not me." Optimus tugged Prowl upward, grasping his chin and tilting his face in the process. Their lips met in a soft kiss. "To build a life with someone means to slowly learn all about them: triumphs, hurts, ex-lovers, creators, everything. Perhaps not every detail is traded, and there are confidences you hold for others who have entrusted secrets to you. But for the most part, I believe you learn the other's past, present, and future, at least in the sense that you grow and change together in the future."

The small smile grew. "Hopeless romantic."

"Always." Optimus kissed him again, cherishing being able to do so early in the morning. "It was nice to be able to wake up next to you, holding you."

Prowl's face softened into a look of quiet adoration that Prime had only recently won and had been afraid he'd lost. "Thank you for staying. Even if I wasn't willing to admit it, I really didn't want to be alone last night."

Nothing quite affected Optimus the same way as that look of adoration, except perhaps Prowl's look of trust. It burned his spark, ignited his passion, and stoked his protectiveness. "Anytime." He captured Prowl's lips again, wanting suddenly to show him just what he meant to him. It wasn't that he expected Prowl to bounce back from their fight by interfacing with him, but rather that he simply wanted to pour out as much affection as Prowl felt comfortable allowing.

Optimus rolled them carefully, making sure not to hurt Prowl's doorwings as he laid him on his back. He cupped Prowl's cheek as he deepened their kiss, slipping his glossa into his mouth and teasing him. Prowl responded by running one arm behind his neck as he rubbed their glossae against each other sensually. Prime found that he could only momentarily withstand that show of passion, and then he had to break away and demonstrate his love upon Prowl's entire body. He first cupped Prowl's neck, tilting back his head and nibbling down the arch of his throat. When Prowl shivered, Optimus sat up for a moment, considering the gorgeous mech lying before him. He reached out, watching his hands as he caressed Prowl's plating, blue on black and white. The smooth curve of Prowl's bumper, the sharp angle of his hips, the warm expanse of his thigh . . . Optimus worshipped the beautiful body stretched beneath him, following his hands with his lips, kissing, adoring, seeking to bring pleasure.

Prowl moaned as Prime's mouth returned to his bumper to suck the rim of one headlight. "Optimus!"

The little gasp made the energon surge in Prime's lines. He licked the length of Prowl's grille, then attacked the other headlight, tracing the rim slowly, lapping at the cool glass. Prowl's back arched off the berth as he pressed into the touch, his engine revving.

Pleased, Optimus kissed slowly down his body, stopping to tease the red triangle on Prowl's abdomen, then scooted down further to settle between Prowl's legs. He immediately lifted one leg in his hand, stroking it and then kissing his way up the inner thigh. He absolutely savored the taste of Prowl's plating against his glossa and wanted nothing more than to reach his critical energy port and tease it until Prowl was writhing in pleasure. He wanted to show Prowl his love with his hands, his glossa, his entire spark.

"_Optimus!_"

Prowl's tone held a warning this time, and he stopped to meet his gaze. Prowl's optics had flared brightly. "It feels wonderful, but . . ."

"Too much too soon?" Optimus felt a moment's embarrassment. He'd enjoyed touching Prowl so much he'd gotten carried away. After such a breach of trust, Prime knew he couldn't expect Prowl to just jump into interfacing.

"Yes." Prowl extracted his leg from Prime's hold and sat up, scooting back as he did. "I'm sorry."

Prime sat up and moved to sit beside Prowl. "That's my line. I lost control a bit." He leaned against the wall and pulled Prowl into his arms, holding him close. "Mostly I wanted to show you my feelings with actions. And to bring you some level of pleasure." He pressed a kiss to Prowl's helm. "But I never want to make you uncomfortable."

To Optimus' relief, Prowl curled into his side just as he had before their argument. "I understand. But I still feel a touch unbalanced from our fight."

"That's unsurprising." Prime rubbed his canopy with long, soothing strokes, and in the silent kliks that followed, he once again considered all that Prowl had confided in him. He could only imagine how such pain had to weigh down Prowl's spark. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said last night."

Prowl stirred and gazed up at him. "Oh?" He sounded vaguely concerned.

"I've just been thinking about how much you've been hurt," Prime said softly. "I want to help you, if I can."

Prowl leaned his head against Prime's shoulder. "Help me? In what sense?"

Optimus considered his own history for a moment. "Well, for those who have hurt me in the past, I found I had to make a deliberate choice to forgive them and let go, or _I_ couldn't let go. And the longer it took for me to let go, the more it hurt, like a fire consuming my spark." He stroked Prowl's cheek with his fingertips, wanting to protect him even in this. "You must hurt even more than I did, though. I can hardly imagine what it must feel like, but I know I want you to be happy. Would you like to move on?"

Prowl frowned. "I suppose I have started down that path by braving this relationship." He sighed out his vents. "And I'm very, _very_ tired of carrying around all this anger and bitterness."

Optimus nodded, deciding to reveal some of his past as well. "I had a friend, Kloan, early in the war who betrayed me. He chose to side with Megatron, then killed one of our mutual friends in a battle shortly thereafter. I thought at first the rage would consume me. Alpha Trion and Elita helped me through it, and Alpha Trion specifically had me conduct a little ceremony when I chose to forgive Kloan and leave him behind. If it's okay with you, I'm going to look through our psychological databases and see if there's something like that mentioned. Maybe I can suggest some options, and you can choose the one that you think would be the most helpful."

Prowl remained quiet for a few kliks. "Very well. We'll see what you find." He paused. "It's just . . . I'm not sure I can release all the pain so easily."

"Not the pain itself." Optimus smiled ruefully. "Forgiveness is a choice, not a feeling. You make your mind to let go. It's yourself that you're freeing, not them."

"Freeing myself?" Prowl looked thoughtful, and Optimus took hope in that. He didn't want his love to suffer any longer.

oOoOo

On his trek to the Command Deck, Prowl realized that he felt oddly _alive._ Not that his spark didn't still sting slightly from his fight with Optimus, because certainly some trust would have to be rebuilt. But the entire outcome was so different than what he'd expected that he found the orange walls to look more like their intended golden hue and the chatter of the morning shift to be pleasant. He nodded to or greeted everyone he passed, which was what he usually did, but their smiles suggested they sensed his peace. Or perhaps they were just glad to see him back to normal, and he _was_ glad to be back on duty, so much so that he could feel his doorwings perked high in response to his improved mood.

He knew what a world-altering experience this actually was. In truth, Prowl had once decided that death and life alike were completely meaningless. A brief interlude, a fool's story, a temporary surge of agony, a nothingness. When Prime had seemed to cast him aside, he had touched that dark place inside himself once again, but he'd been unable to stay there. Unlike all the others, Prime had returned for him. Offered to build a life with him, to cherish him, to validate him. Outside the war, where meaning was madness, they could create together a meaning based on love, a script with purpose, a play that didn't end in tragedy. There would be a next act after any agonies because there was forgiveness, a unified agreement to work through and past and beyond. And it started with a choice: Prime's choice to love him while he was still wounded, and Prowl's choice to forgive and move forward.

Perhaps Prime's suggestion that Prowl move forward and forgive everyone who'd hurt him had merit.

Prowl swept onto the Command Deck and found Jazz, along with the rest of the third shift, awaiting relief. One look at Jazz's rigid posture and frown told him that his friend was still angry on his behalf. Jazz turned toward him, his visor flashing briefly.

"Good mornin', sir." A tight smile.

"Good morning, Jazz." Prowl was unsurprised to get a ping through the comm. line, which he opened. ::Yes?::

::Tell me Prime didn't frag it up this time.:: Jazz's exterior remained professional. "I'm happy to report no suspicious activity. The 'Cons've been silent all night."

::He came to me and apologized.:: Prowl had to smile at his friend, knowing they'd be like brothers as long as they lived. ::Then he asked me about my past, and I told him. He even stayed with me so I didn't have to be alone, although I didn't ask him to.:: Prowl found it oddly comforting to know Jazz would beat in the helm of anyone who hurt him, including Prime himself. "Very well. You're relieved."

"Thank ya, sir." Jazz's persona shifted immediately as he relaxed, which would seem to anyone else like a mere sign of his going off-duty. ::Good. The dumb-aft should've done that to begin with.:: He sighed out his vents. ::But at least he gets it now. Are ya good with it?:: He leaned against Teletraan I's console and crossed his arms. "Anythin' gonna be up today? Planned, I mean? Or can I go pass out?"

Prowl had to stifle a chuckle. They had perfected the art of double conversations over the vorns. "I'll save the surprise drill you're not supposed to know about for after you've gotten some recharge." He was joking, but he said it so totally deadpan that several mechs glanced up in shock. ::I'm 'good' with it. I think we're going to recover nicely.::

Jazz laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks, Prowler." He straightened and headed toward the door. ::Good to hear. I was hopin' you'd be happy together.::

Watching him go, Prowl resolved in all seriousness to not bother Jazz that orn. Jazz had been pulling double shifts to cover for him. Before Prowl could consider a further show of thanks, however, Teletraan beeped at him. He opened the comm. line and was momentarily surprised to find himself looking at a human. So very few Earth scientists and engineers had worked on video calling devices that it was rare, except for one or two cases where the Autobots had installed an emergency video transmitter. So far they'd only done so for President Reagan, Secretary of Defense Weinberger, and Prime Minister Thatcher, although a few other nations had requested a similar service, especially Japan.

"Greetings," the human said, by the looks of his decorated military outfit a U.S. general. "Optimus Prime's SIC, aren't you? Prowl? I'm General Sherman Thurston; pleased to make your acquaintance."

Prowl's processor immediately jerked Thurston's name from his databanks. He was in charge of what the humans had dubbed 'Project Superfuel,' which in Prowl's mind was like painting a target on their heads for the Decepticons. "Pleased to meet you, General. I suppose you'd like to discuss the superfuel with Prime." It was times like these that Prowl prized his ability to be stoic. 'Superfuel'? The uncreativity of the name was stunning.

"Yes, I would." Thurston seemed pleasant enough, but he also had the air of someone on serious business.

Prowl opened his internal comm. link only to catch sight of Prime entering the Command Deck. "General Thurston for you, sir."

Optimus joined him at Teletraan and pressed his hand to his lower back in a comforting gesture. Prowl knew that the camera angle wouldn't reveal this to Thurston, but the rest of the Deck would see it. He gazed up at Optimus, who had purposefully stepped close enough that their armor brushed, and realized he was inconspicuously but conspicuously being held. The entire conversation between Prime and Thurston was lost to him as he gazed at his love and soaked up this tiny moment of care, and he realized he was glad he hadn't just immediately shut out Prime and begun distancing himself. Their relationship was worth working through.

Behind him, Prowl picked up a faint murmur of voices, and he glanced over his shoulder, bracing himself. Even if he was his own mech, it did still hurt when the crew laughed at him for being 'tight-afted' or 'no fun' and then gossiped if he turned out to be fallible. But when Blaster gave him a very human thumbs-up from the communications console, he realized their smiles were _for_ him and not _at_ him. That established, he returned his gaze to Prime, loving the feel of the hand on his canopy. Maybe what he'd needed all along was someone like Prime, someone who wanted to cherish him and protect him.

Still, he tried to reign in his processor and start a plan of protection for the 'superfuel' they were going to test. Somehow, he had a very bad feeling about it, and he'd work as hard as he could to keep the fuel a secret from the 'Cons.

oOoOo

Optimus sat in Omega Supreme's passenger cabin, holding Prowl's hand. Of the half-dozen ideas Prime had been able to generate to help Prowl let go of his past, the one Prowl had liked best involved a trip into space. The 'ceremony' they were going to conduct wasn't too different than the one Alpha Trion had led Prime through: Prowl had painted glyphs onto pieces of scrap metal in order to tell the story of each offense, and he was going to release the scraps into space as a symbol of forgiveness. Then, unbeknownst to Prowl as of yet, Omega was going to vaporize them with his laser cannon before they left. It would be a complete annihilation of what held Prowl back.

Leaning against Prime's arm and shoulder, Prowl relaxed as they made their way to a high orbit around Earth. They had said little during the trip thus far since even writing down the offenses had been emotionally exhausting for Prowl. Optimus simply shifted, putting his arm around Prowl and holding him close. He wanted his every action and every word to show Prowl just how much he loved him. But his obsessive thoughts about showing Prowl love had, over the last few orns, begun to include fantasies of love-making. Some of them had grown quite involved, with his favorite one being taking Prowl off-guard in his office, only moments after his shift had ended, and giving Prowl's critical energy port considerable attention by his glossa.

Prime shifted again faintly, his frame heating up. He really couldn't get the idea out of his processor, however. Although he would do almost anything within reason to bring his lover ecstasy, Optimus had his preferences. He loved, _loved_ pleasuring a mech's or femme's critical energy port. Being the hotbed of sensors that it was, that particular valve could bring any 'bot intense pleasure, and Optimus considered it both his duty and _his_ pleasure to show his love in such a way and send his beloved into pure ecstasy.

It had been, then, with stunning effort that Prime had managed to keep his hands off Prowl. The mech was so unloved and untouched that Optimus wanted to make love to him immediately and every night thereafter as long as they lived. More than an apology, more than lust, more than the meeting of physical needs, Optimus wanted to encompass Prowl in his love in all possible ways. He wanted to see pleasure painted across Prowl's face, see love in his optics, see his head thrown back in bliss, and see his lips parted in moans as Prime worked hard to show him just how much he meant to him.

Of course, Optimus wanted to be very careful not to pressure Prowl in any way. Prowl needed to be ready for that stage of a relationship. Anyone needed to be ready, to not rush in, but Prowl, with his wounds and past negative experiences, especially needed to. And Optimus considered it unloving and beyond reproach to manipulate, pressure, or force a lover into any form of interfacing or intimacy.

However, that didn't stop Prime's memory banks from replaying the cherished images of his one night together with Prowl. He'd refined the images, made grainy by his inebriation, to the best clarity possible and poured over every moment, from Prowl's look of love and trust before they began to his arched back and cries of pleasure at the end. Everything about Prowl in ecstasy was intoxicating: the shine of his parted lips as he moaned, the way he brutally gripped the desk's edge as Prime teased him, the flare of his doorwings as Prime caressed them. _Primus,_ it was the most beautiful thing Optimus had seen in his life. Oh, how he wanted to make love to Prowl again. It didn't matter where or how. Anything that brought Prowl happiness and pleasure, brought them closer together, and shared their love was good by Prime.

Omega Supreme's booming voice jerked Optimus from his thoughts. "Location and orbit achieved."

Prowl jumped faintly, having drifted into a light recharge. He sat up and frowned. "This should be interesting."

Prime stood and grabbed the box of metal scraps, then followed Prowl to one of Omega's access chambers. The idea was to read the offense briefly and toss it to the floor. Omega had even agreed to offline his audios so he wouldn't overhear, and Prime would use the comm. to tell him when it was safe to listen again. Then, once all the scraps were cast off, they'd retreat and vent the chamber to space.

"Here you go." Prime sat the box at Prowl's feet, then grasped his left hand. "Are you ready to release these memories and let go of the anger?"

"I think so." Prowl sounded unsure still, although Optimus had explained twice now that Prowl didn't have to _feel_ magically better. "I guess I'll just approach it through logic: I _choose_ to forgive. Cognitively." He reached down and pulled the first scrap from the box. "Stingray and Highstrike, I choose to forgive you for forcing me into the academy . . ."

Optimus focused more on Prowl's facial expressions and doorwing movements than his words. At first, Prowl seemed to read the stories by rote, his face impassive, but then a frown appeared. Soon after, his doorwings hiked up, and he began to squeeze Prime's hand. His careful emotional control was slowly breaking down, and as much as Prime hurt to see it, he knew it was necessary. Still, he continued to offer his support by holding Prowl's hand as he read each story, threw down a piece, and picked up another.

"Nosedive." Prowl's voice had become strained, rough. He paused as though collecting himself, then continued. "You can never know what it was like to be swept aside, to suddenly be relegated to your leftovers time-wise." He stopped abruptly, his doorwings trembling from obvious stress. "I loved you like family, but I was tossed aside for something better. And instead of caring that I was hurt, you said I was selfish. Still, I choose to forgive you and release my anger toward you." He threw the scrap onto the growing pile.

Prime stared at it, struck through by how much pain Prowl had experienced in his life. It made him ill, literally to the point of his energon burning in his tank, to see what Prowl had suffered. So, so much abandonment. An endless life of coming in second, or last, in the optics of those who claimed to love him. Pushed aside, punished for being himself, and left alone to find his own way. Somehow the perfect little glyphs, written in such fine penmanship, seemed to mock the story they told, and all Prime wanted to do was hold Prowl and kiss away his pain. Erase it from existence.

Prowl was staring at the box. "_Primus,_" he gasped as he reached for the next piece. "Sentinel." He laughed suddenly, a brittle, almost hysterical laugh. "_Sentinel._ Where do I begin?" He glanced over the metal scrap. "I suppose this story really is as good as any: You always made everything my problem. It was mostly your problem, as it turns out, but you managed to make me think it was mine. I'd end up apologizing to you for _my_ pain. You were jealous, clingy, suffocating, and possessive, and when you — "

It happened in an instant: Prowl jerked away from Optimus and hurled the scrap across the chamber. He grabbed handfuls of pieces, snatching them from the box and throwing them with all his strength. He screamed out his pain, the words coming so fast they were jumbled and mostly unintelligible to Optimus.

" — fragging _selfish_ slagger, making me — " Prowl heaved one piece so hard it bounced off two walls and the floor before skipping across the deckplates. " — but _no_, even _that_ wasn't enough and you had to — !"

Prime had expected this to happen because he'd reached the same point during his 'ceremony' as well, but it didn't make it any easier to watch, especially when Prowl was usually so stoic. Still, he forced himself to stay back and say nothing, to let Prowl rage and yell and throw scraps. The pieces bounced and skidded, toppled and even chipped.

Only when Prowl had thrown the last one and collapsed to the deck, crying, did Prime rush to his side. He fell to his knees and pulled Prowl into his arms, holding him tightly. "It's okay," Prime whispered, stroking his canopy and rocking him faintly in an attempt to soothe him. "Let it go. Let it _all_ go. Hold nothing back."

Prowl collapsed against his chest, his entire body shuddering with the released pain. "I don't understand!" The shout was muffled by Prime's chestplates. "What is so wrong with me that _no one_ would love me? What is so wrong with me that _no one_ would stay with me? Am I really that _unlovable_?"

"_I_ love you. I want to stay by you, to keep you, to be with you forever." Prime tilted back Prowl's head and rained kisses onto his face, moving slowly over one cheek, across the bridge of his nose, then over the other cheek. He didn't care, hardly even noticed, the bitter tears of coolant. "I intend to bond with you, if you so choose." He pressed a kiss to Prowl's chevron, then one to his lips. "I don't know what the frag was wrong with those 'bots, and I have no idea why you had such bad luck. But to me, you are extremely lovable."

Prowl gazed up at him, relief and exhaustion dimming his optics. "Thank you," he murmured, running his arms around Prime's waist. He looked too tired to move. "Thank you . . ."

"You're welcome, but you don't need to thank me," Optimus murmured, still stroking Prowl's back. "Truly, I don't want something temporary here. I want to love you forever, be united with you forever, and stand by you forever. Although I know it will be unavoidable sometimes since we're all fallible, I don't want to hurt you, and I'm even sorrier now that I gave you such a scare." He cupped Prowl's cheek, pressing more kisses to his chevron, nose, and lips.

Leaning into the touches, Prowl dimmed his optics and nodded. "I can't even begin to tell you how much that means to me."

Optimus could only guess, but he did know he wanted to be the one who succeeded and never let Prowl down. He wanted to prove to Prowl that love was real and meant for him. He wanted him to feel it spark-to-spark.

He continued to hold Prowl until he indicated he was calmer, and then he helped him to stand. They moved into the hallway and, with an air of finality, jettisoned the scraps. Prime commed Omega, letting him know it was time, and Omega fired on the scraps, reducing them to their component atoms. Prowl gasped faintly at the sight, and when Optimus glanced at his face, he saw the ghost of a smile.

If the exercise brought Prowl even the faintest respite, Prime thought it was worth it.

* * *

_Postscript: As always, much appreciation to the following for their wonderful reviews: Kaede Akira, optimus prime 007, steelcrash, reaper mendez, Hikarigirl18, WacheyP87, Kurichi-chan, Shizuka Taiyou, BitterSweetDrug, Carmilla DeWinter, OrianPrime92, renegadewriter8, and TransFormers101._


	12. The One

_A/N: Where have I been, you ask? Well, I've written almost 9,000 words of notes on a new story that I will begin after this one. It took many days to get down all those notes because the story has been building in my head for exactly a calendar year now, and I'm so dead serious about this that I even had my beta readers beta the notes. I've also been working on a guide for new fanfic writers that I hope will be helpful._

_Anyway, on with "Loveless." This chapter references "The Key to Vector Sigma, Parts I and II" with only a few minor changes. Some dialogue is directly from those episodes. I actually fixed one tiny error, but I didn't touch the rest. Please forgive my good-natured fun-poking at the name "superfuel." _

_

* * *

_

_"No rush though I need your touch.  
I won't rush your heart . . .  
Somebody else was here before;  
He treated you unkind  
And broken wings need time to heal . . .  
Trust in me and you'll find a heart so true;  
All I want to do is give the best of me to you . . .  
And I will prove my love  
Until you're sure that I'm 'the one.'"_  
-Gary Allan, "The One"

_**Chapter 12: The One**_

Prowl glared at the innocuous datapad, upset and unsure how to react. After being wrapped up with Red Alert planning security measures for the humans' 'superfuel,' Prowl had resumed the task he'd set aside for a few orns: finishing the mission reports on the Elita One incident. He'd already received and processed Ironhide's report on his team, but this was a unique occasion. Since Ironhide's report could only cover his mission to find Prime, Optimus also had to submit ones on his mission to rescue Elita. This left Prowl with the unusual task of processing a mission report from his own commander. And when he'd read it . . .

Carefully drawing cool air into his intakes, Prowl cycled the heat away from his engine in slow, sure exhalations. Everything about his office suddenly seemed drawn into excruciating detail: the tick of the ancient, antique clock mounted on the wall; the _Z_-shaped scratch running up the far wall; the energy report datapad teetering on the desk's edge where Jazz had tossed it; and the dull, orangey sheen of the once-golden walls. Prowl's armor seemed to itch with his abrupt need to be outside, preferably traveling at high speeds.

"Primus," he hissed, irritated.

Interfaced.

Optimus had interfaced with Elita.

_He had to save her life,_ Prowl's logical side argued. _Alpha Trion told him to do that because it was apparently the only way to do so._

_But this is_ interfacing_ we're talking about here,_ Prowl's hidden emotional side insisted. _An intimate, personal connection._

Prowl sighed, confused. Although some 'bots considered interfacing not much more than a pleasurable way to release static charge or burn carbon buildup out of their systems, Prowl was among those who considered it a sacred, emotional act of love and connection. Or at least that's what Prowl had come to believe it should be in contrast to his real, lived experience with Sentinel. And what Optimus had done to save Elita was even more meaningful than normal interfacing — it was transferring spark energy, life-force energy. If Optimus had transferred enough of it, he could have accidentally bonded to Elita, which would have generated a three-'bot, lopsided bond. Such a thing, while possible, was dangerous.

Grabbing his stylus, Prowl signed off on the datapad with more force than was strictly necessary and slapped it in his outbox. He reasoned with himself as best he could, reminding himself that Prime still loved Elita like a sister, that Prime couldn't stand by and watch anyone die, and that Prime could not have been aroused in such a life-and-death circumstance. Part of him still cried out, though. He desired a more intimate connection with Optimus, and he'd been deeply moved by Prime's confession of wanting to bond with him. Something about this new information unsettled him.

"I'm being silly," Prowl reprimanded himself, and determined to set it aside, he stood and headed out of his office. It was almost time to report to the _Ark's_ entrance for Mission: Protect Superfuel, or so Jazz had irreverently dubbed it. He would deal with his unwieldy feelings on his own since there was a perfectly rational, valid reason for Prime's actions.

Still Prowl had to wonder if he should speak up instead. Not in a jealous or accusatory way, of course, but rather in bald honesty. Optimus could likely put his concerns to rest easily, and if Prowl held it in, it might fester. Prowl didn't want to be annoying, but he also wanted to keep their lines of communication open.

This 'healthy relationship' stuff was no easy task.

Prowl shook his head at himself as he saw Optimus, Smokescreen, and Warpath exit the Command Deck, heading for the entrance, too. Prowl wasn't one to jump into action without careful planning first, so he'd wait until the superfuel was safely transferred to its new home and then reason out the best course of action.

"Are you ready?" Optimus asked as Prowl approached.

Prowl nodded. It was rare that they went on missions together since having the Prime and the SIC together was a too-tempting target and their simultaneous loss would cripple the command structure. On the issue of the superfuel, though, both Optimus and he had been equally stubborn about protecting it in person. "Ready, sir."

Smokescreen shook his head. "I promise I could've handled the on-site tactical planning by myself, Prowl."

"I'm not doubting your skills," Prowl assured him, sensing the younger mech's tension.

Warpath interrupted them with his effervescent enthusiasm. "Then let's — Pow! Wham! — get our superfuel and get energized!"

Prowl held off a flinch at the term "superfuel," which he still found to be patently uncreative. Even _he_ could come up with more original names than that. "I appreciate your zeal, Warpath," he said dryly, then turned to Optimus, still maintaining his deadpan expression. "Shall we launch Mission: Protect Superfuel?"

Predictably, Smokescreen and Warpath seemed to think Prowl was being staid and serious. Optimus, though, recognized Jazz's irreverent terminology and Prowl's understated humor and laughed. "Certainly. Transform and roll out!"

Five breams later, as they escorted the tankers down the highway, traveling at the excruciatingly slow pace of 55mph, Prowl found himself obsessively scanning the skies, looking for the barest blip that could indicate a Decepticon presence. They had surrounded the three tankers in a diamond formation with Warpath in front, Prowl and Smokescreen to each side, and Optimus in the back, but traffic had picked up on the highway, making the formation impossible. In response, Prowl had doubled the power of his sensor sweeps, but it wasn't comforting to know that Soundwave could mask their signals until they were in visual range.

Optimus apparently shared his paranoia. "All quiet so far," he commented uneasily.

"Yeah, like they say in the movies, too quiet," Smokescreen replied, pulling up alongside Prime.

Prowl sometimes wondered why so many of the crew had developed a fascination with Earth's TV shows and movies, and his only guess was that his species' adaptive function made them more open to alien cultures. "Given our security measures, it's unlikely the Decepticons even know about the superfuel." Prowl and Red Alert had absolutely poured themselves into safeguarding all communication about the fuel, picking the best route to the fuel's new home base, and covering their activities.

"Yes," Prime said, "but if Megatron did know, he'd do anything to get his hands on it."

Prowl mentally frowned, knowing just how true that was. And as though Prime's words had jinxed them, a blaster shot struck the road in front of Warpath, blowing a crater in it. Warpath halted abruptly along with the three tankers.

"See what I mean?" Optimus pulled out and sped around the tankers, taking the lead. "Let's move it!"

Prowl and Smokescreen immediately followed, Prowl cursing internally. This was just what he and Red Alert had worked so hard to avoid.

"So much for your security, Prowl." Smokescreen sounded vaguely snide, no doubt still irritated at Prowl's insistence on being on the team personally.

As usual, Prowl pretended that the comment didn't sting, but in truth he was both insulted and frustrated. As much as he expected others to do their jobs and do them well, his standards for himself were even higher. He felt humiliated that his plan had been defeated so easily.

Megatron's yelling interrupted his thoughts. "Thrust, Dirge, Ramjet, after them!"

A chorus of "With pleasure, Megatron!" accompanied a hail of blaster shots, and Prowl had to swerve repeatedly. He could only be glad that the 'Cons wanted the superfuel and therefore wouldn't aim for it. Then again, the Coneheads weren't the best shots.

Smokescreen seemed to be sharing his thoughts. "One direct hit and that superfuel'll blow us sky high! We gotta hunt for cover."

"Cover coming up." Optimus led them straight into the approaching tunnel cut through the mountains.

Behind him, Prowl heard a panicked "Look out!" followed by the sound of crashing. For a moment he hoped the entire trine had wrecked, but when they emerged on the other side, his sensors immediately picked up their remaining pursuer. "Ramjet's still on our tail," he noted, battle computer kicking into high gear.

Optimus was one step ahead of him, however. "Right turn, everyone. Now!"

Prowl followed Prime back into the tunnel, wondering if Ramjet could truly be stupid enough to fall for the same trick twice. Except, of course, he was, and a screamed "No!" preceded the sound of another crash. _What an idiot,_ Prowl thought, but he was relieved to have defeated him easily.

His relief was short-lived. As soon as they exited the tunnel again, Megatron landed beside them on the road's shoulder, aiming his fusion cannon at one tanker.

"Hold it, Prime!" Megatron's yell and grimace telegraphed just how angry he was at the quick defeat of his jets. "Any closer and I'll blast that tanker, and you know what kind of explosion all that superfuel will make."

Prowl transformed along with Prime, noting that Smokescreen had hung back and hidden himself in the tunnel. Suspecting what his fellow tactician was up to, he simply watched the two leaders bicker.

"You're likely to get blown sky-high, too, Megatron." Optimus sounded rather unimpressed.

Megatron didn't lower his arm. "I'll risk it, so back off, Prime!"

"No way, Megatron." Optimus stepped forward, clearly smug. "You'll have to blow us all up, and frankly I don't think you've got the guts."

Prowl nearly flinched. Given the "mega" nature of Megatron's pride and ego — the mech hadn't been named randomly, after all — that was sure to set him off.

Predictably, Megatron immediately exploded and fixed his shifted aim. "Die, you miserable—"

"Eat my smoke!" Smokescreen barreled out of the tunnel, covering Megatron with his magnetic smoke.

Having been awaiting the moment, Prowl opened fire instantly along with Optimus and Warpath, with Smokescreen joining in as soon as he transformed. Between the four of them, it only took a few astroseconds to drive off Megatron, who took blindly to the sky.

"You won't get away with this, I promise you!" Megatron yelled as he flew away.

Although Prowl was used to hearing entire litanies of Megatron's useless threats, something in the warlord's tone set his circuits on edge. Megatron wasn't just angry; he was _planning_ something. Prowl watched him retreat, getting a very, very bad feeling about what this new, nefarious plot could be.

oOoOo

Optimus wasn't sure his orn could get any worse.

He paced in his office, disquieted by the recent news that Megatron had created a group of Decepticons out of five stolen cars and reopened the Space Bridge. It was clear to Optimus that Megatron was taking his new car group to Cybertron to be brought to life by Vector Sigma. Direct infusion by either Vector Sigma or the Matrix was the quickest, easiest way to generate adult mechs. Sparking was a long process, sometimes dangerous, and the spark created was much too small and weak to power an adult's frame. With Cybertron's energy depleted, no new 'bots had been created in millennia until Prime had utilized Earth's resources and the Matrix to build the Dinobots. However, since Optimus had used the Matrix five times in the creation of the Dinobots, it would need to recharge for almost a stellar cycle before it could grant life again, and Vector Sigma was factionless and amoral.

That meant Vector Sigma would give its requester whatever they asked for, including mechs of pure evil.

Optimus groaned, his processor aching at the mere thought of it. He rubbed his temple, horrified by the idea of what Megatron would likely create: cruel, violent mechs preprogrammed to be so obedient that they'd barely be able to think for themselves. He had to, absolutely _had_ to, reach Alpha Trion first and stop Megatron. He'd summoned Omega Supreme to transport a team to Cybertron and now waited impatiently for him to arrive at the _Ark_.

The doorbell to his office buzzed, and preoccupied by his thoughts, Prime triggered the release without even asking who was there. Prowl stepped into the room, his doorwings hiking up as a worried frown bent his lips. Optimus stopped pacing and gazed at him, wondering if Prowl had gotten to his mission report regarding Elita One yet, and if so, whether he'd been upset by it. It hardly seemed like an appropriate time to ask, however.

"Sir," Prowl said, stopping in front of his desk, "Omega will be landing in exactly one breem." He paused then folded his hands gracefully. "I apologize that my security plan wasn't more effective, sir." His face was expressionless as ever, but his doorwings inched higher, betraying how upset he was. No doubt Prowl was silently berating himself and had been all orn.

Tossing aside all pretense of formality, Optimus gestured for Prowl to come closer and lifted his arm. "There's no need to apologize, Prowl. I signed off on the plan, remember? If I hadn't believed it was solid, I wouldn't have. Don't be so hard on yourself."

After a moment's hesitation, Prowl walked over, tucking himself against Prime's side and letting Optimus hug him close. "If you say so, sir."

"I do." Prime gazed down at him, noting the gentle way Prowl rested one hand on his chest. Prowl's doorwings perked up a fraction more then slowly lowered, and Optimus cherished the thought that he could comfort him.

"Are you all right?" Prowl asked, gazing up at Prime with open concern. "I know this new turn of events must have disturbed you."

Optimus smiled to himself, the sight of Prowl's care warming his spark and relaxing him. "I'm concerned that Megatron will succeed in creating new lives," he admitted, "and if he does, I fear he will make them as twisted as possible."

Prowl nodded, stroking his hand over Prime's chest in a comforting caress. "Wheeljack's latest upgrades to Omega's FDL drive should help you to arrive on Cybertron only four breems after takeoff."

As grateful as Optimus was that Cybertron's current location was so close to Earth, he knew the only real barrier between Megatron and Vector Sigma was likely Alpha Trion. Even Omega's Faster Than Light drive couldn't buy them much time when the Space Bridge generated a space-time fold that transported one in as little as half a breem. "Unfortunately, Megatron has a significant lead on us."

"I know." Prowl wrapped his arms around Prime's waist and hugged him. "Just be careful."

Moved once again by the sweet mech hiding behind Prowl's stoic exterior, Prime retracted his mask and bent down, pressing a kiss to Prowl's chevron. "I will, love." His external comm. link beeped, interrupting him.

::Jazz to Optimus. Omega's on his final approach, sir.::

Optimus nodded to himself. Finally, they could leave. ::Copy that, Jazz. Tell my team to meet me at the entrance. Optimus out.:: He glanced at Prowl, and seeing the faint, worried frown on his lips, kept his arm around his shoulders. "Would you accompany me?"

"Certainly." Prowl stayed close by his side as they exited the office and made their way outside.

Ratchet, Blaster, Hoist, Wheeljack, and Ironhide had already gathered at the _Ark's_ entrance and were watching Omega Supreme slowly land. The sun seemed unusually bright, and it glinted off Omega's silvery armor. Optimus turned away from the blinding light and took both Prowl's hands in his. "You be careful as well. If we don't arrive in time to stop Megatron, he's certain to return here and unleash his new creations."

Prowl's faint frown became more pronounced. "I'll handle it, sir."

"About that . . ." drawled a nasal, cultured voice. Beside them, Mirage emerged from a grid of yellow lines, becoming suddenly visible. "I've just returned from the _Nemesis,_ sirs, and you'll be unhappy to know that Megatron has created another combiner team." He held out a small data disk to Optimus. "These are the plans."

"Why am I not surprised?" Prime accepted the disk with a faint sigh. "Good work, Mirage."

Prowl's doorwings jerked up high on his back. "This is not good. Omega may be an even match to Devastator, but he's not strong enough to take on two gestalts at once."

Optimus squared his shoulders. "Wheeljack, Ratchet, Hoist, and I will discuss a solution during our flight." He paused as Omega landed, shaking the entire landscape, then turned to the shuttle. "Rocket mode, Omega Supreme. We're going to Cybertron."

Omega immediately transformed. "Rocket mode ready."

Prime nodded to his team. "Let's embark." He gave Prowl a reassuring squeeze on the arm. "You have command." For a moment he wished he could say more, but he remained professional and followed the others into Omega.

This time he resolved he'd complete his mission without worrying Prowl.

oOoOo

Prowl slipped into the medbay, and seeing Jazz in the far corner, he headed across the room. He glanced at Omega Supreme as he passed, or rather what was left of him. Ratchet, Sparkplug, Hoist, and Perceptor had been working nonstop to fix the shuttle after he'd exploded. Apparently he'd been so damaged battling the 'Cons on Cybertron that his return flight to Earth had doomed him.

"How's he doing?" Prowl whispered to Jazz, leaning against the wall beside him. He knew better than to interrupt an under-charged and overworked Ratchet.

Jazz shook his head. "They're fightin' to get him fixed before his cerebral cortex or spark goes out, but it ain't lookin' good right now."

"Primus." Prowl frowned. Optimus' mission couldn't have gone much worse. He and his team hadn't reached Cybertron in time to stop Megatron's new Stunticons from being granted life. To balance the odds, Prime had returned with five new Autobots as well, but unfortunately, the Aerialbots had snubbed the _Ark's_ crew and stormed off the base. Meanwhile, the Stunticons had been terrorizing Earth. It was hardly what Prowl considered an optimal situation.

"Let's get out of here." Jazz clapped Prowl on the shoulder as he pushed away from the wall and headed for the door.

Prowl followed, knowing his friend well enough to suspect something was up. "What is it?" he asked once they were safely in the hall.

Jazz glanced around as though to ensure they wouldn't be overheard then started in the general direction of their offices. "I think that's my line, Prowler."

"Come again?" Prowl knew their situation was stressful, but he wasn't aware that he seemed any different than usual.

"Yer distracted." Jazz shrugged. "Something's eatin' at ya, and I don't think it's the mess with the Stunticons and Aerialbots."

Since they reached Prowl's office first, he punched in his security code and waved Jazz inside. "I didn't realize I was being so obvious." He could only guess that his irritation over Prime and Elita's 'interfacing' was showing.

Jazz gave him a wry smile. "Hey. It's me."

Prowl sighed and leaned against his desk. "Before we left on 'Mission: Protect Superfuel' — "

Jazz snorted.

" — I read the mission report on Prime's rescue of Elita." Prowl frowned, disturbed by both the information and his reaction to it. "I know I'm being ridiculous here, but I got upset. It turns out that Optimus gave her some of his life-force in order to save her." He rubbed his fingers against one temple. "Basically, they interfaced."

Jazz grew very still. "Oh."

"I realize it was a medical necessity." Prowl crossed his arms over his chest tightly, as though he'd hug himself. "But . . ."

Jazz stepped forward, squeezing his shoulder. "Hey, I'd be upset, too. Ya don't have to explain away yer feelings." He chewed on his lip for a moment. "I doubt it was sexual in nature, given the circumstances, and I don't suggest ya get angry with him. But ya should talk it out. Sometimes a little reassurance can go a long way."

Prowl nodded, but before he could ask for further pointers, his external comm. line opened.

::Prime to Prowl. Emergency. Assemble a team and report to the command deck immediately.::

::Understood, sir.:: Prowl glanced at Jazz, knowing he had overheard the message. "Let's go."

They raced out of the office and down the hallway. Prowl commed Smokescreen and Tracks as he went, and when he reached the command deck, he realized whatever it was had already upset the mechs present. Ironhide and Blaster were standing with Prime at Teletraan I's main terminal, and Ironhide was glowering, his arms crossed.

"Our best hope would be Omega Supreme," Prime was saying, "but he's down, maybe dying." His voice dropped on the last words, becoming quiet and grave.

Prowl watched his beloved with concern, hating the way Optimus carried worry for each crewmember and yet loving him for it at the same time. Prowl believed that care was what made Prime a truly great leader, but he hoped he could love and support Optimus enough to help bear that burden.

Ironhide was obviously losing patience. "An' ya let the Aerialbots take a powder?" he asked Prime.

Silently bristling, Prowl felt irritated with the way Ironhide seemed to blame Optimus for the Aerialbots' bad attitudes. Certainly Prime could have locked them in the brig, but it wouldn't have done any good. It would have only made the Aerialbots more quarrelsome. Not to mention that blame-throwing was not going to help their situation.

"Yeah, this is what I call a suicide mission, Optimus," Blaster chimed in.

"Maybe, Blaster, but we're not just going to stand by." Optimus turned to Prowl and his now-assembled team. "The key to Vector Sigma can apparently turn any object to metal. Megatron has learned this and is transforming everything in his path. He's only twenty miles from Seattle now, and we can all imagine what will happen to the city and its people when he arrives there."

Jazz traded a glance with Prowl. "Does he have the Stunticons with him?"

"Yes. But we can't delay or human lives will be lost." Prime's determination rang in his voice. "Autobots, transform and roll out!"

Prowl transformed and followed Prime's lead. Behind him trailed an angry Ironhide, who was carrying Blaster, and a very grim Jazz, Tracks, and Smokescreen. Still, no matter how poor their odds, Prowl knew they couldn't just stand by with so many humans in mortal danger.

However, as they neared their destination and the trees and ground became metal caricatures of themselves, Prowl's earlier sense of foreboding returned. As soon as Prowl got a fix on Megatron's position, the Stunticons charged them. Motormaster slammed into Prime's trailer, and Jazz was knocked into a tree. Dragstrip began chasing Tracks, and even though Prowl and Smokescreen both tried to cut him off, Dragstrip crashed into them fearlessly, throwing them aside. When Prowl saw all five Stunticons encircle Prime, his spark seemed to crystallize into ice. Before he could react, the roar of approaching jet engines filled his audios.

_Seekers,_ he thought, horrified, and painfully transformed into his root mode despite his injuries. His best chance of helping was to employ his long-range shooting skills and act as a sniper. By the volume of the roar, it sounded like both trines, and he glanced at the sky to confirm his suspicions. To his utter shock, it was the Aerialbots, and Air Raid dipped low, saving Optimus from the Stunticons' attack. "Thank Primus!" Prowl muttered in sudden relief.

Even with the Aerialbots fighting the Stunticons, the tide of the battle didn't turn immediately. Tracks and Jazz had been injured and were in stasis lock; Smokescreen and Blaster were being harassed by Soundwave's cassettes. Ironhide was wrestling with Soundwave, and Optimus was still trying to reach Megatron. Prowl paused to radio base and request medical assistance, only to realize that the Stunticons had noticed Prime's target and three of them had veered to stop him while Air Raid and Slingshot banked to make another strafing run.

Prowl's battle computer seemed to process the images in slow motion: Motormaster barreling at Prime from one side and Deadend and Dragstrip hurtling at him from the opposite one. Given their upgraded armor and force fields, the Stunticons had proven they could do an exceptional amount of damage without hurting themselves, and Motormaster had already dented Prime's trailer. Without further thought or calculation, Prowl threw himself at his love, smashing into Optimus' side and knocking him clear. He hoped his momentum would be enough to throw him clear as well, but he felt the impact along the entire right side of his frame, the agony exploding over his sensor net. The horrific crunching and sheering of metal roared in his audios, and with a howl of pain, he jerked offline.

oOoOo

At first, Prowl was only aware of warmth, waves and waves of pleasant heat and love radiating through his frame. His sensor nodes and circuits tingled, and a gentle, affectionate force seemed to ripple through his lines. However, everything was dark and silent like an empty, abandoned storage building. It was almost like recharge except he was keenly aware of his consciousness.

_My fearless, shining knight,_ a sad but kind voice said to him. _Always guarding, always protecting. But it is I who should be protecting you. I promised._

His processor seemed sluggish, and it was a klik before Prowl recognized the voice. Even then he wasn't sure where it was coming from, and he still couldn't see anything. Why was it so dark? He couldn't sense anything, as though his audios, optics, and doorwings were all offline. _Optimus?_

_Yes, love._

The gentle, affectionate pressure expanding through Prowl lines and circuits seemed to swell and encompass him. A ghost of sensation brushed his left hand. Was Optimus holding his hand? _Are you all right, sir?_

_I'm fine. Just a few scratches. All is well. The 'Cons have been driven off and the key destroyed. Don't worry about anything right now. Just focus on me._ Sharp worry mixed with the love.

_I'm hurt,_ Prowl concluded. It seemed a strange thing, though, since he felt no pain. There were only the waves of pleasant heat washing through his frame and lapping at his circuits. It reminded him vaguely of their trip to the Caribbean, when Prowl had sat on the beach and let the warm water stream over him.

A pause. _Yes, you are. But I need you, Prowl. I love you. Please, please stay with me._ A note of desperation haunted the voice.

_I'm going nowhere,_ Prowl assured him, his spark stirring at the words. A distinct pulsing intensified in his spark from the convergence of emotion and energy. _I_ want _to be with you._

A surge of love and affection. _Yes, I can feel that. Hang on for me, then, and we will be together._

Prowl's sensors narrowed the sensations enough for him to detect the warmth's point of origin: his abdomen. The heat was entering through the input port under his decorative red triangle. Energy transfer? Given the usually intimate nature of such a connection, Prowl supposed he should be mortified, but the heat traveled directly to his spark, warming it in a comforting way and keeping his embarrassment at bay.

It took his dazed processor a moment to analyze that little factoid.

_You're connected to my systems!_ Another moment and Prowl realized he wasn't speaking aloud. _You're talking to me over the connection. You're —_ The situation's entirety dawned upon him as he registered the thick stream of energy tingling in his spark now. _You're giving me spark energy to keep me alive._

Another surge of love and worry. _Yes, love. Now please stay with me._

Prowl felt it then: a caress against his cheek, a squeeze of his left hand, even a cool breeze over his plating. With monumental effort, he onlined his optics, immediately seeing the cable hooked into his abdomen. He couldn't feel the right side of his frame, which he saw was grotesquely crushed and mangled. His leg and arm were flattened and his side dented in. Processed energon adorned his frame in purple splashes.

Leaning over him, Prime caught his gaze, and his optics burned overly brightly. "It's okay, love," he whispered. "Stay still and preserve your energy. Ratchet stabilized you first, and as soon as he stabilizes Jazz and Tracks, we'll be transporting you all back to base."

"Jazz?" he managed to choke out, worried for his friend.

"He's not as badly injured as you are," Optimus said. "Try not to worry. Ratchet will take care of him."

Clinging to Prime's assurances, Prowl held his gaze, their love silently washing through their connection. He instantly knew there was no need to ask about Prime's having given Elita life-force energy because he was now doing the same for him. More than that, Prowl could _feel_ the density of Prime's love for him. It fell on him like a thick, warm blanket, physically tangible in its intensity, all-encompassing and unconditional. Even if he hadn't been injured, Prowl would have been unable to move from the stunning force of the adoration flowing into him.

"I'm going to take care of you," Optimus whispered, retracting his battle mask just long enough to press a kiss to Prowl's left palm. "Good care. I promise."

Prowl's vents hitched as another surge of Prime's love poured into his spark. _Primus, I love you!_ The thought rushed out of him unchecked.

_And I love you._ Optimus pressed Prowl's hand against his chest.

The crunching of dirt indicated the approach of another mech, and Ratchet knelt at Prowl's side. "You're online? That's amazing." He glanced at Prime. "Can you carry Prowl back to base in your trailer? I know Motormaster damaged it."

"Certainly. It's only a dent." Prime gently unhooked himself from Prowl's systems, returning his cable to his abdomen while Ratchet closed the cover to Prowl's input. Then Optimus stepped aside and transformed, summoning his trailer from his extended subspace.

Ratchet and Ironhide helped load Prowl into Prime, but he hardly noticed their efforts. His systems begged to be shut back down so he could conserve energy, but the real source of his distraction was the intimate knowledge that had passed between them: the true depth and sincerity of their feelings for each other.

Prowl had finally found The One.

* * *

_Postscript: As always, thank you very much to the following for their support and reviews: Vivienne Grainger, Dendey, Kaede Akira, Shizuka Taiyou, Optimus Prime 007, OrionPrime92, BitterSweetDrug, sphinx01, Glittersong, TransFormers101, Yami-Yugi3, reaper mendez, Carmilla DeWinter, steelcrash, renegadewriter8, LaurenTheCrazyVampire, taralyden, Kikarigirl18, and Optimus Bob._


	13. Making Memories

_A/N: For the record, I do have an idea for a sequel. It's all an issue of time. So in the event I don't make it around to writing the sequel, let me say this: as per usual, I won't let the '86 movie get in my way._

_As mentioned several chapters ago, I am pondering a gift to my reviewers just because I appreciate you so much. I'm not sure if it'll be a bonus chapter or a one-shot. I'm still playing with the ideas._

_My next story, the one with the 9000 words of notes, now has a working title: "Imperium in Imperio." I'll probably tag it Prowl/Jazz, but it's actually an Optimus/Prowl/Jazz love triangle. If you enjoyed the OxP pairing, then take a look when it's posted!_

_Thank you to the following for wonderful support and reviews: Reaper Mendez, Glittersong, Gatekat, renegadewriter8, Skylure/Hellen, taralynden, Prowlersgirl, BitterSweetDrug, OrianPrime92, TransFormers101, Dragon Queen88, Hikarigirl18, and sphinx01!_

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* * *

_

_"I'm gonna be here for you, baby;  
I'll be a man of my word . . .  
You've been stretched to the limits, but it's alright now . . .  
I'm gonna love you like nobody loves you,  
And I'll win your trust making memories of us."_  
-Keith Urban, "Making Memories of Us"

_**Chapter 13: Making Memories**_

From his table, Prowl glanced around the rec room, smiling softly at the dancing mechs and the multicolored decorations. Although Optimus and he had opted for a private bonding, a prebonding party was still being thrown in their honor. Since Spike and Carly had helped Bumblebee and Jazz with the décor, various human touches like streamers, balloons, and banners embellished the room. However, the traditional colors of blue, white, and red — for longevity, joy, and luck, respectively — had been maintained. Prowl thought the effect was quite lovely, and he couldn't imagine a better celebration.

Optimus had gone to get them two mini-cubes of high-grade and now returned. With his battle mask retracted, he openly smiled at Prowl and handed him a cube. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked quietly, taking his seat.

Prowl nodded. "It's nice to see everyone so happy." _And it's touching to see how happy they are for us,_ he mused to himself. Although Optimus and he had given the crew little notice of their intentions — once they decided they were ready, they were _ready_ — everyone had thrown themselves into the preparations. "Still, Blaster has the music loud enough to cause an earthquake, and I would like some time _alone_ soon." He underscored his meaning with a sly smile.

Optimus laughed and drank his small cube in a single swig. "By all means."

Determined to enjoy his high-grade, Prowl drank at a more leisurely pace, but as soon as he was done, they stood and slipped from the room. Only Jazz noticed their parting, and he gave them a little wave as they passed. His grin was proof enough that he knew where they were headed. Once they cleared the doorway, Optimus offered his arm to Prowl, and he took it with a smile. They strolled down the empty hallways, the party's music and laughter growing muffled as they went, and Prowl was pleased that he wasn't stressed about their upcoming physical intimacy. They had attacked Prowl's wounds together, discussing what made him uncomfortable and outlining boundaries. Prowl's prerequisite for interlinking was his need to _feel_ Prime's love directly, spark-to-spark. Love had a way of destroying fear, and Optimus was more than happy to engulf Prowl in that love. As a result, Prowl felt sure he'd be fine. In fact, he could hardly wait to feel Prime's energy flowing inside of him once again.

At the thought, Prowl felt his frame heat up, and he dropped his head to hide the impish smile tugging at his lips.

Prime glanced at him and chuckled. "What is it, love? I see that little grin of yours."

"Oh, just thinking about the night ahead." Prowl turned his impish smile upon Optimus, whose intakes skipped noticeably.

"Is that so? Are you implying you want to extend the night as long as possible?" Prime lifted Prowl's hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles.

Prowl flicked his doorwings in a quick, playful snap. "Certainly."

Optimus' optics darkened to a rich cobalt. "I'm glad to hear that." He stopped by the doors of the quarters they would now share. "I wish to make love to you all night long."

Prowl shivered faintly at Prime's deepening voice and watched as he punched their access code into the lock.

Standing aside, Optimus bowed Prowl inside, and he glanced around as he entered. A double-sized berth had been moved into the quarters, necessitating the loss of one storage closet so they could have enough walking space. Prime's berth had already been oversized, after all. "Impressive," Prowl remarked. This was the first time he'd seen the room after the minor remodeling.

"Yes, Grapple did a fine job." Optimus stepped to his side and wrapped his arm around Prowl's shoulders.

Prowl turned in Prime's arms and rested his hands on his chest. "And now this is _our_ home."

A smile bloomed across Prime's lips as he apparently caught Prowl's meaning. "Yes. _Our_ home." He cupped Prowl's face, rubbing his thumb over his cheekseam gently before leaning down to kiss his lips.

Prowl pressed into those soft lips, their glossae meeting and caressing, and slipped one arm behind Prime's neck to pull him close. With Sentinel, Prowl had felt a dearth of passion, but with Optimus' love surrounding him, Prowl both wanted and needed his touch. He transferred his love and his readiness into the kiss, drawing a soft moan from Optimus.

Prime's hands stroked down his armor, one pressing against his canopy and the other fondling his right doorwing. Prowl groaned faintly, his body quickly heating, and he treasured the thought that they'd have a long, pleasurable night together.

oOoOo

Jazz kicked back in his chair, balancing it precariously on its back legs. All around him, mechs danced to Earth's newest hits, including Madonna, Janet Jackson, Peter Gabriel, and the Pet Shop Boys. If nothing else could be said for humans, they sure knew how to write good songs. However, for once Jazz's good mood had nothing to do with music and everything to do with Prowl having found happiness. Once upon a time, Jazz had hoped Prowl would fall in love with him, but Prowl had been too wounded to move forward yet. Now they were both bonded, each of them to someone he loved, and Jazz had a sense of rightness and peace.

"That's quite a smile," drawled a cultured voice at Jazz's side. Mirage slipped into the chair beside him and passed him a new cube of high grade. "Happy that our illustrious commanders have seen fit to seal their relationship?"

"Exceedingly." Jazz held up his cube, clinking it against Mirage's before they took a drink. "For awhile I was genuinely afraid that Prowl'd never heal. I feared he'd be stuck in his rage and fear forever. But ya know what? He pushed through nicely."

Mirage nodded. "And we get a wild party in celebration."

Jazz laughed, knowing how much Mirage had enjoyed clubbing with his high-priced friends before the Towers fell. "Good thing I'm already bonded to ya. The way ya dance everyone in the room scopes ya out."

A wicked grin tugged at Mirage's lips. "Just showing off my curves for you."

"Tease."

"You like it."

Thunking his chair's legs back to the floor, Jazz reached out and caressed Mirage's arm. "Careful, now. I'm feelin' a bit kinky tonight."

Mirage leaned forward, letting his lips brush Jazz's audio horn as he spoke. "Is that a promise?"

"Oh, I promise." The room suddenly felt a touch hotter, and Jazz stole a kiss before tipping back in his chair again. He affected a melodramatic sigh. "We better cap our activities at two rounds, though. Tomorrow's gonna be a long orn."

"What do you mean?" Mirage frowned. "Didn't Prime and Prowl move themselves to the night shift tomorrow?"

Jazz smirked. "Oh, sure. But it's a waste of effort. We'll end up pulling double shifts to cover them."

Mirage laughed.

oOoOo

In what was now their shared berth, Optimus gently laid Prowl on his back, mindful of his doorwings. They'd taken their time with each other, slowly moving from the sitting area to the berth, kissing and caressing, exploring and teasing. Prowl felt amazed at how relaxed he was despite his anticipation. After all, he'd certainly never attempted what he was now going to do with Optimus. However, with every stroke to Prime's armor or grille, Prowl telegraphed his love, and with every kiss to Prowl's lips or neck, Optimus showered him with love as well.

Settling over Prowl, Optimus slowly kissed down his body, giving a few licks and nips to his neck and bumper before continuing down his abdomen. "You're beautiful," he whispered, caressing his side with one hand. "Absolutely beautiful."

"So are you in that handsome, strong way of yours." Prowl smiled at him, stroking Prime's left finial with his fingers.

Optimus shivered. "I have a feeling that you can drive me wild." He smiled and pressed another kiss to Prowl's abdominal plating. "But tonight I want it to be all about you."

A thrill surged through Prowl's lines, a mix of passion and love. "I'm yours," he whispered. He _trusted_ Prime. Clutching his soon-to-be mate to him, Prowl linked one leg over his, stroking Optimus' left finial once more. Optimus gasped but continued his path, kissing tenderly up Prowl's body again and tracing the rim of one headlight slowly with his glossa. Prowl arched into the touch, grasping at Optimus' shoulders, and moaned as he slipped his hand under his bumper, stroking the wires there. He could feel Prime's love in each and every touch.

"That's right," Optimus whispered, reaching out and slipping his hands over Prowl's doors and tracing the demarcation lines. "Let go for me."

"Optimus," Prowl moaned, wanting nothing more than to call his love's name as Optimus stroked the edges of his doorwings.

Obviously encouraged, Optimus leaned over and, using his glossa, followed the path his hand had taken. Prowl's doorwing trembled under the attention, the sensors burning with the pleasure, and he captured Prime's helm in his hands, running his fingers over both finials and whispering to his love. "Please don't stop."

At the request, Optimus moaned, and the vibration carried directly into Prowl's doorwing, making him gasp. He ran one hand up Prowl's body as he continued to lick, caressing his armor and stroking the other doorwing's bottom edge. Prowl's entire back arch from the berth, and he writhed in his effort not to overload instantly.

Apparently sensing the problem, Optimus pulled away, giving Prowl a moment to bring his systems back under his control. "I would very much like to overload you with just my touch later tonight," Optimus said, lovingly pressing a kiss to Prowl's cheek, "but right now my spark is aching to be united with yours."

Prowl nodded. He knew how much Optimus wanted him to feel his love again, very directly feel it, and he also needed to feel that love again, be encompassed in its certainty and absoluteness. "Mine, too."

Optimus held out his hands, and Prowl grasped them, letting him pull him to a sitting position. Then Prime shifted, sitting cross-legged on the berth and hoisting Prowl into his lap. "I want to hold you close for this," he murmured, wrapping an arm around Prowl's waist.

Wrapping his arms tightly around Optimus, Prowl leaned against his chest. Heat rolled off Prime's armor in waves and his engine revved, revealing just how much pleasuring Prowl had turned him on. With an air of desperation, Optimus triggered open the small access panel on his forearm and grasped Prowl's free hand, lacing their fingers together. Realizing that his lover wanted to link their systems, Prowl retracted the panel on his forearm as well, letting Optimus plug them into each other. An alert popped up on Prowl's internal display, and he took down his firewalls. Prime's energy and emotions rushed into him. They both moaned together as their love was unleashed between them, racing through their lines along with the flow of data and heat. For a moment, Prowl couldn't move from the sheer volume of Prime's adoration, which crested inside him like a living entity, rubbing and caressing itself against his circuits.

"Prowl . . . love . . ." Optimus whispered, embracing him tightly.

Prowl smiled and leaned in, kissing his way up Prime's neck. Optimus tilted back his helm, exposing his neck, and moaned as Prowl nipped at one cable. In response, Optimus caressed the length of one of Prowl's doorwings, setting off the sensors there once again. The ecstasy was nearly overwhelming, and through their uplink, he could feel Prime's pleasure as well. Their gasps filled the room as they arched into each other, rubbing their bumpers together as they teased one another. Their lips met in a brief but passionate kiss, and Prowl realized he wasn't going to last very long.

"Need you," he managed to pant, parting his chest armor and baring his spark.

"Prowl . . ." Optimus opened his spark chamber as well, and a blue glow lit the room. Prowl grew still momentarily as their sparks began reacting, reaching out tendrils that caressed each other and shooting cascades of tingling energy through them. Optimus started to press forward, but Prowl held him back with a teasing smile, letting more wisps stretch between them. Each new strand lapped at the other's spark, releasing waves of heat and ecstasy.

"_Primus!_" Optimus gasped.

Prowl drew back, trying hard to calm his systems. "Later tonight," he whispered, shooting Prime a sultry smile to tell him that Prowl was going to tease his spark relentlessly.

With a soft moan, Prime nodded. "I'm all yours." Then Optimus pulled him flush to his chest, and they both pressed into each other, merging their sparks together. A wave of heat seemed to crash through Prowl's frame, and they clutched each other desperately, yelling each other's names. The universe seemed to rush away from them, individual thoughts, feelings, and memories racing past their consciousnesses like streaking stars. Prowl could feel Optimus' love pouring into him once again, shattering the remnants of his pain, fear, and loneliness and remaking his world with assurance and love. He grabbed onto that adoration, cherishing it and meeting it with his own. The boundaries in his mind and soul that made him 'Prowl' slipped away, merging with the essence of Optimus. They seared their love into each other as though they could burn it into their very sparks. Pulses of passion and energy thrummed in and between them, and they crested into overload together, crying out each other's names.

A breem later, Prowl became slowly aware that he was now lying down, his spark chamber closed. His head was resting on Prime's chest, and Optimus was stroking his back gently. "I guess I offlined," he murmured, running his hand over Prime's grille.

"We both did." Optimus gave him a wry smile. "But I don't keep myself as under-energized as you do. Never fear, though. We can refuel as much as necessary to drive each other wild all night."

Prowl chuckled, and he felt a stir of warmth and amusement in his spark. Prime's joy and love swelled inside him, caressing his very essence. For a moment, he thought tears of coolant would spring to his optics. "Thank you," he whispered roughly. "Thank you for loving me and not giving up on me."

"I believed from the very beginning that you were worth it." Optimus pressed a kiss to his helm. "You have been critically unloved, but I'm going to override every one of those negative memories with new ones. We can create a whole new universe between us."

A smile returned to Prowl's lips, and he reached over their bond to envelop Prime's spark with his utter adoration. "Hopeless romantic."

"Always."


End file.
